


A Pinch of Magic

by emelianss



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Feel-good, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magic, Modern Magic, Pining, Slow Build, mention of depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 64,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4659945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emelianss/pseuds/emelianss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between rolling hills and winding rivers lies Jinae, an idyllic town with magic sparkling in the air. Marco Bodt has lived his whole life here, and as the new manager of his aunt's old bookshop he’s well-known and liked among the townspeople. Jean Kirstein is an outsider recently arrived for a temporary job and needs somewhere to stay for the coming year. Their paths cross when Jean learns about the empty attic room in Marco’s house — and luckily for both of them, Marco isn’t one to judge too much on first impressions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have a mighty need for more asexual JeanMarco fics, so a while back I decided to write my own. And here is the first chapter, finally! Friendships, fluff, and secret crushes will come soon enough... but first of all they must meet each other.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think! :D
> 
> My [tumblr](http://emelianss.tumblr.com) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/emelianss).

The bell started singing the moment the door to the bookstore was pushed open. A warm breeze followed the visitor inside, carrying with it the faint scent of flowers from the neighbouring florist’s. It mixed with the smell of paper and ink and stories; danced in the rays of sunlight that seeped through the windows and painted the room in a warm hue of summery yellow.

Marco Bodt looked up from the stack of new books he was sorting through and smiled in greeting to the familiar figure. The tunes of the bell didn’t match the bright atmosphere in the shop; they were slow and melodramatic, and his friend paused a few steps in with frown. She glanced back at the doorbell and then raised an eyebrow in Marco’s direction. ‘Really?’ she said, continuing towards the counter. ‘Out of every melody you could have picked for me, you chose that one?’

Marco chuckled and pressed a price tag on the book he was holding with the tag gun. ‘I thought it fit,’ he said, giving her a cheeky grin. Mikasa rolled her eyes and turned her attention to a small shelf to her right, absentmindedly rolling the silver chain of her necklace around her fingers.

After a moment of silence between them, Marco peeled the sticky glue of a misplaced tag from the pad of his thumb and walked over. Mikasa was now busy studying a stand of gift cards, her black hair falling from her shoulder over her face like a curtain. She snorted at the text written on the one she was holding and put it back just as Marco leaned over the counter separating them to see what it was. Ah. The romance ones.

‘I thought you liked sappy stuff,’ he grinned and earned another frown in reply.

‘Oh, certainly,’ she said with dry voice as she run her fingers over the edge of the card. But it was with a small smile hiding in the corner of her mouth. ‘Still can’t believe people fall for it, though. It’s so cheesy.’

Marco hummed with an amused smile of his own. He straightened up again, placing his hands on the glass surface beside the cash register, palms down and fingers spread, before asking in his best shop assistant-voice, ‘Now, what can I do for you?’

Mikasa’s eyes moved over to him, eyebrow still raised, and his grin turned into a warm laugh. ‘Ahh,’ Mikasa exhaled, her own smirk widening a little. ‘That’s exactly what I needed. I feel much better now.’

Still grinning, Marco shook his head at her reaction and leaned closer again to give her a one-armed hug. She frowned at him at first but then melted into his shoulder with a sigh. ‘Rough day?’ he asked when she gently pushed him back.

‘Oh you could say that. But it’s fine, I’ll live.’ She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. ‘You’re good at making it better.’

‘I didn’t do anything.’

‘Trust me, you did. I’m still convinced you have some sort of positive magic vibe going on that you’re not even aware of yourself.’

Marco snorted and with a light chuckle following it, he swiped away some dirt from the counter table with his hand.

The melody of the doorbell started up again, this time a different and catchier one. It caught both their attention; Mikasa even stepped aside a little not to take up Marco’s time in case it was a customer in need of help. But when she saw who it was she relaxed back into casually leaning on the furniture.

‘Yooooo, what’s up guys?’ Sasha called as she danced inside. The bell rang a few extra tunes to accompany her sick moves, before eventually stopping after a crescendo. Marco met Mikasa’s deadpan expression, pressing his lips together not to crack a wide grin at her lack of amusement.  But the look she sent towards Sasha afterwards was still loving.

‘Thank you, Bell,’ Sasha said, for a moment freeing her lips from around the straw she was slurping milkshake through. She bowed her head in its direction, and flipped the brown ponytail when turning her attention  back to her more human friends. Her eager face split into a wide grin. ‘Maaarcooo, Mikasaaa!’ she exclaimed, leaping up to them as fast as she could without spilling anything out of the two cream-topped big glasses she carried in her hands. Mikasa gracefully took one of them from her and handed it to Marco to prevent an accident.

Sasha threw the freed arm around Mikasa's shoulder and laughed. She might take it lightly but Mikasa wasn't very happy about almost getting her chest covered in a white-brown milk-mix.

Marco eyed the half-full glass he had been given, recognising the flavour by the colour and smell of banana and cacao. ‘Is this…?’ he began and Sasha let go of Mikasa to face towards him instead. She pushed her sunglasses up on her head in a swift move and smirked.

‘Mine,’ she finished for him and took back the glass he was holding, winking at his disappointed puppy eyes and swirled her tongue around the straw before slurping loudly. Mikasa wrinkled her nose and stepped farther away now that Sasha’s hands were too occupied to hold her back. Marco groaned; Sasha's eyes gleamed. ‘But this one…’ She made a teasing gesture with the other glass, not giving in until Marco reached for it with eager hands.

‘God, you have stars in your eyes, Marco,’ Mikasa remarked, and snorted at Marco’s blissful face when the first decorative meringue melted on his tongue.

‘Sorry Mikasa, I didn’t know you would be here so I didn’t bring you one,’ Sasha said, ignoring the fact that she didn’t have hands for any more anyway.

‘You can have some of mine,’ Marco offered, trying not to let his possessive love for the milkshake be too obvious. Mikasa wasn’t fooled.

‘No thanks, I’m good. I’d rather eat an actual banana split than that blended mush.’

Marco and Sasha gasped in union, the latter so offended by their friend's words she pressed her free hand to her chest. ‘How can you say such a thing, Mikasa! Milkshakes are the reason humans were put on this earth!’

‘You tend to say that about everything you can eat.’

‘Marco, tell her I’m right!’

‘I wouldn’t go as far as that,’ Marco mused and stepped away from Sasha’s aimed punch over the counter. ‘But gosh, they are delicious!’

Judging by the smug smile Sasha gave Mikasa, she seemed to find that a good enough response. Mikasa just shook her head with a half-amused sigh, and Sasha turned her attention back to Marco. ‘You know the Reiss Mansion Project?’

‘Mhm?’ he hummed while slurping the milkshake. ‘Won’t actually be a mansion though?’

‘Of course it will; have you met Christa’s aunt?! That woman would build a castle if they had the money for it. Anyway, _my point_ is,’ Sasha said, eyes gleaming, ‘some of the guys working on it stopped by for lunch. They’re eating there this very instant.’

‘Yeah okay. So?’

‘Soooo,’ Sasha explained, wiggling her eyebrows, ‘we should go take a look at them.’

‘What? _No_.’

‘Don’t be so boring, Marco!’

‘I’m working, Sash. I’ve already had my lunch break.’

‘Oh come on, it’s not like you have any customers in here right now anyway.’ Marco made a gesture towards Mikasa and Sasha snorted. ‘As if she ever buys anything. You can’t call her a customer unless you ask her to pay for your laugh.’

‘She’s got a point.’

‘You’re not helping.’ Marco shook his head with a sigh. ‘I can’t leave just because the shop isn’t full of people. There’s other stuff to do, and I need to be here when someone comes in.’

‘Isn’t Armin here?’ Sasha directed a louder call into the store, earning a distant ‘yeah?’ from somewhere deep among the bookshelves. She gestured with her hand in the direction the voice had come from. ‘See? He can take over if a sudden wave of people crashes in. Come oooon, Marco. It only takes a moment!’

Marco let out a long sigh; Sasha clapped her hands in triumph when he moved from his position.  ‘This once,’ he said, pointing a finger in her face. She replied with a wolfish grin, slid her sunglasses back down on her nose and picked up her milkshake from the counter where she’d placed it before her little victory dance.

‘I’ll go tell Armin,’ Mikasa said as she walked farther into the shop, waving a hand in goodbye.

The bell rang cheerily when Sasha dragged Marco through the door. She took the few steps to the ground in one jump; Marco, who had paid more attention to slurping his drink than to what Sasha was doing, almost fell on is face when she yanked his arm along in the leap. She only chuckled as apology and bumped her hip into his before continuing down the street.

Flower petals and gorgeous smells danced in the warm breeze tousling their hair. The mix of gardenia and freesia grew stronger as they passed the flower shop next to the bookstore. In the midst of the flowers outside the open glass doors stood Petra, smiling brightly and waving. With his own hands taken by the milkshake and Sasha’s urging pull, Marco only beamed and nodded in reply.

Sasha walked with a leap in her steps over the cobblestones, the straw still in her mouth. She had long ago mastered the art of eating and drinking on the move, a skill that resulted in her glass being empty before they reached the outside part of the coffee shop. The mismatched tables and chairs were all taken by people enjoying a lunch in the sun – or rather, cooling beneath the rainbow parasols.

‘It was already full outside when they got here,’ Sasha informed Marco as she led him towards the entrance. Marco pulled a pitying face. ‘At least the air-conditioning is working again now.’

Marco got a reason to doubt those words the moment he stepped through the door; the heat slamming into him was oppressive and stuffy, and he thanked his neighbour for making sure his own workplace remained cool despite the summer weather.

The air did get somewhat better once they’d walked up the stairs to the floor above, where their local Sina’s Coffee was situated. It was a cosy place with a counter and shelves in mahogany, and a variety of differing chairs and tables in dark warm shades. Other, brighter colours mixed in with the rest of the decoration in the shape of patterned tea caddies filling the shelves, as well as table clothes, cups and plates.

Marco breathed in the strong aroma of mixed coffee and tea, and smiled despite the heat. He loved this place.

Sasha wiped her hands on her jeans shorts and slid in behind the counter; if her boss came back early from his lunch, it would at least seem as if she was doing her job. ‘Do you want anything?’ she asked and reached into the display case even before Marco had replied. ‘The chocolate cake is delicious.’

Marco accepted the blue plate without arguing. If the boss did come back he’d rather not get another telling-off for hanging around here again without buying anything. It was an unwanted distraction for Sasha, and the boss did not approve. Not that he really needed the excuse, Marco admitted to himself while Sasha piped whipped cream on the cake and topped with wild strawberries and lemon balm.

‘They’re over there,’ she said then, pointing towards the opposite side of the room. The windows were open wide facing the canal outside; a cooling oasis in the middle of a desert of heat. ‘The girls seem to have left, though.’

There were five of them now, all still dressed in their work clothes; baggy orange trousers with a million pockets, and a shirt or tank top in varying shades between black and white.  Standing where they were, Marco and Sasha were close enough to see them clearly, though not able to hear any conversation other than murmured voices. Which was for the best, because that meant they probably couldn’t hear Sasha whisper about them either.

She leaned her elbows on the polished wood between the two of them, eyes gleaming. ‘So which one do you like?’

‘What?’ Marco looked back at her with a frown. ‘I don’t even know them. I’m seeing them for the first time right now.’

‘Soooo? I’m not asking you who to marry – who do you _like_ – as in your _type_.’

Marco sighed. He was in no mood for this today. ‘Did the thought ever occur to you that everyone doesn’t need or want a partner?’

‘What do you think?’ Sasha was quick to reply, her voice devoid of any joking tone. She helped herself to a piece of Marco’s cake. ‘Your aunt is a great example of that, for starters.’

‘See?’

‘Yeah, but you _do_ want someone,’ Sasha insisted. ‘I know you.’

‘Then you also know that I don’t have a type, and that I’ll take all this whenever it comes.’

‘Come ooon, Marco!’ Sasha exclaimed, loud enough to earn a glance from the table. She saw her mistake and leaned closer to continue in a hushed tone. ‘Just humour me for a while. Look at them; they’re all different from each other. Which one is the most attractive to you?’

Marco sighed. He did have a cake to eat anyway so maybe he could endure this until it was gone. With Sasha stealing half of it, it would probably not take very long.

‘That blond guy was nice.’ Sasha made a vague gesture with her spoon, which was about as precise as pointing towards all of them.

‘Who? The muscled one?’

‘I meant Sideburns, but Muscle Man was cool too.’ She must have noted Marco’s unimpressed expression because after a moment without an audible reply she added a helping, ‘No?’ Marco shook his head. ‘Neither of them? Muscle Man can probably carry you bridal style over the threshold if you’d be into that.’

‘Sasha.’

‘Okay fine. I think he’s together with the Giant anyway…’

Even though they were all sitting down, it was clear who this Giant was because he still towered above them. Marco didn’t ask why Sasha assumed they were together; Muscle Man was painfully obvious with his lewd gestures towards his table neighbour. He laughed at the poor guy’s flustered face before pulling him into a one-armed hug. Holding him close he gave his cheek a loud, sloppy kiss, which brought a shaky smile to Giant’s face. Marco could almost see the small hearts fluttering around them in the air. The other three didn’t seem to find it quiet as amusing, though. One of them looked downright pissed.

‘So since you don’t seem interested in sunshine, what about Thunder Cloud?’ Sasha said, snickering.

It wasn’t hard to figure that one out either. The guy really did resemble a thunder cloud – at least as much as a person can. His hair was ashen with a black undercut, his brows drawn together and thin lips twisted in a scowl as he tried to ignore the lovey-dovey couple and glared down into the cup he was holding instead. He was pale in contrast to his closest companions, Giant and... Buzz Cut, Marco decided to name the fifth of them, and the only one Sasha hadn’t mentioned anything about. Yet.

‘He looks like he’s drinking sour milk or something,’ Marco said, focus back on Thunder Cloud. ‘What on earth did you give him?’

Sasha giggled and took another bite from the cake, leaving only a small one left for Marco. He gave her an annoyed glare that she either missed or ignored. ‘He asked for faith in humanity. I said we had run out of that flavour but would take the next best thing. I gave him Positive Vibes.’

Marco studied the guy as he emptied his coffee, but saw no change in his expression or body language. True, the effect wasn’t instant. But they’d been sitting there for a while already and still nothing had happened. ‘I don’t think your magic’s working anymore, Sash.’

‘Nah some people just aren’t receptive to it. Nothing I can do.’

Marco snorted, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Sasha met his eyes with a bright smile of her own, clearly enjoying this despite none of them having caught Marco’s interest. ‘So what about Buzz Cut?’ he asked, taking the last bit of cake before Sasha stole that too. She looked a little confused at first, so he added, ‘The fifth guy.’

‘Oh! _Oh_.’ A suspicious shadow fell over her face as she squinted at Marco. ‘I hope you’re not into him because then you and I are gonna have a problem.’

Marco couldn’t help but laugh at that. ‘He’s all yours, Sash, don’t worry. Really though, I have to go back to work now. Thanks for the cake,’ he added and raised an eyebrow at her. ‘But considering I paid for it maybe you’re the one who should say thanks.’

‘I gave you a milkshake. We’re even.’

‘Fair enough.’ Marco headed for the stairs with a wave of goodbye, and Sasha sent a hand-blown kiss in reply. He grimaced dramatically when the sloppy illusion of red lips touched his cheek, rubbed it away like a child and then winked at her laugh before finally skipping down the stairs.

*

When Marco came home a few hours later he was greeted by his attention seeking flatmate meowing and rubbing up against his leg.

‘Hello, sweetie,’ Marco cooed. He bent down to take off his shoes and scratched the cat behind the ears. She purred and stepped on his toes, stretching to climb up on his bent knee. ‘Hey, hey,’ he chuckled and straightened up again, ‘let me get out of these clothes before you jump me, alright?’

Lady Tiny Paws, Lady for short, followed in his trail as he moved around the apartment. When he shed the khaki trousers he wore to work without putting on anything else, she watched him from the unmade bed with her head tilted to one side. And when he opened a window in every room to let in fresh air, she was still there on his heels brushing her fluffy tail against bare skin. But after that she noticed more food and water in her bowls, and decided to stop and dine for a while. This left him to prepare his own microwaved leftovers without her trying to climb his legs.

Marco lived on the second floor in the same building as the bookshop. The first floor was hired by a man more often out traveling than at home in it. What one person did with so much space he barely even used was a mystery to Marco; perhaps he filled the square metres with all the souvenirs he brought back with him from the countries he visited. At least this was the case with the magical artefact Marco had to thank for the cool air in the shop.

It was still strange to call this place his own. Marco was at home here for sure; even when he lived in the attic room he spent a lot of time with his sister and her girlfriend, and before that their aunt still lived here herself. Ymir and Christa had been gone for a month, but the presence of their previous years in the apartment still lingered. For starters, most of the furniture was the same and would remain so until they found a new house. But there was more too; home was in the walls. On the flowery wallpapers Ymir had painted over a couple of years ago. In the cosy atmosphere, with all the memories created here. Maybe that’s why it was hard to think of it as only his.

Marco had spent the last month filling the rooms with his own things. First the few belongings that he’d had room for in the attic – then some of all the things his parents had collected in the basement during his adolescent. They’d been glad to see them go, but the freed space was soon taken up by Ymir’s boxes again. She and Christa had filled the storage room of this house to the brim, but it was far from big enough to hold all their stuff.

‘It’s only for a while, mum!’ Ymir had promised, before taking a backpack and bordered the train with her girlfriend, destination: the world. Not that their parents minded. They were glad their daughter travelled before eventually settling down in a house the girls had yet to find. They just hoped it wouldn’t be too far away from Jinae.

Marco sat down by the table with his food, the afternoon light showering the room in a golden shine from the big window facing the canal. Calm, light silence seeped into him as he relaxed, watching the houses on the other side. There the neighbour’s old golden retriever rested on a pillow on the windowsill with the breeze from the water rocking him to sleep.

Lady jumped up on the table, narrowly avoiding to land on the plate. She bumped her head into Marco's hand and he put down the fork to pay attention to her. ‘How am I so lucky to have someone as loving as you?’ he asked with a tender smile as he petted her. She purred in reply and nodded into his touch with closed eyes and a content smile.

Once he had eaten up and leaned back on the chair, Lady settled in his lap. Marco chewed on the pen while his eyes moved over the pages of his calendar, considering how best to fill the remaining empty slots of the coming week. Lady kept him company, curled up and snoozing, and occasionally giving his left hand a rough but loving lick where it rested on her brown striped fur. Marco chuckled, reminding himself to leave space for daily cuddles with her too.

*

A few days later, an unexpected visitor came to the bookshop. Marco was on his knees on the floor when the doorbell’s singing started up again. It was the ordinary signal, so none of his closest friends or family – but an actual potential customer. Despite wanting to show that he was available when someone was in the store, he decided they could wait while he tried to get out his keys from where he had dropped them below the counter. They might not even be there to talk to him, but to browse the shelves on their own.

‘I heard you had a room for rent,’ someone said from above him, the voice harsh and sudden. Marco started in surprise, bumping the back of his head into the wooden underside of the counter. Rubbing the aching spot with his hand he straightened up slowly to answer the unexpected comment. But instead he was taken aback by the realisation that the guy in front of him was one of the joiners Sasha had been going on about since five days back, more precisely Thunder Cloud.

The name suited him, Marco couldn’t help but decide when those sharp eyes met his, cracking amber like lightning in the stormy sky _. Wow, that sounded awfully cheesy._ Marco winced internally at himself. _Way to be poetic about_ _a stranger, Marco. A stranger who’s currently glaring at you over the cash register. Right._

‘Um.. s-sorry…’

‘Well? Do you? I don’t have all day.’ The guy offered as much of an apology for startling Marco as he had given any greeting, and stood with arms crossed over his chest in a pose that suggested he was ready to start stamping his foot with impatience unless Marco snapped out of the daze soon. He wore the same black tank top as last time Marco saw him, and his tense bony shoulders had received a reddish colour around the U-shaped opening of it. In this heat any clothes were too hot, but by looking at that sunburn Marco guessed he would have to wear something more the next day not to make it worse.

Not that such details were important at the moment.

‘Yes! I do, it’s upstairs,’ Marco said quickly and made a vague gesture towards the ceiling, still feeling out of it. He was starting to wonder if his head had been damaged when he hit it. ‘Are you interested?’

‘No, I just came here to tell you that I heard,’ the guy deadpanned, and then rolled his eyes when Marco blinked at him. ‘Yes, of course I am. How much for it?’

‘You haven’t even seen the room yet.’

‘Look, I can’t afford to be picky, alright? I’ve already lived at that inn for a month and I barely get any money left after I pay for it. I took this job to earn and  _save_  money, not spend every goddamn crown on  _living_  here. It’s not that fun being stuck in this place.’

Marco nodded slowly, not sure if the guy’s rude tone or his little too honest reply surprised him more. ‘O-oh okay, of course. Well, I can’t really leave to show you right now – oh, Armin!’ he called towards his co-worker who had just appeared from behind a bookshelf. Armin looked up from the serving trolley they used for moving new merchandise from the stockroom into the store; he gave them an expectant gaze while waiting to hear what Marco had to say. ‘Can you take over here for a moment? He’s interested in the attic.’

Armin gave them both a bright smile that only Marco returned. ‘Sure!’ he said and put down the sketch pads he was holding on the trolley, leaving the task for later.

Marco mumbled a rushed ‘Thank you’ when they passed each other and then gestured with his arm for Thunder Cloud to follow him. ‘This way!’

Outside the bookshop Marco turned right by the Jasmine tree, steering towards the next door in the row of houses. He leapt up the steps and pressed the code into the keypad, then held the blue door open. ‘You’ll get the pin if you decide to move in,’ he said to… wait, what was his name? Had they introduced themselves?  _Shit_. ‘I’m Marco, by the way,’ he added when they both had entered the narrow stairwell. It really was embarrassing that he had forgotten to say it before, and he hoped this feeling wasn’t audible in his voice. ‘Marco Bodt.’ 

Thunder Cloud slowly took his offered hand in a short shake. ‘Jean Kirstein.’

‘It’s nice to meet you.’ Marco smiled over his shoulder as he turned and continued up the stairs. He walked them past doors leading to apartments both left and right, and when reaching  _Bodt, M_. on the second floor, he patted it as a meaning gesture. It wasn’t clear if Jean paid attention to this information or not. ‘The architecture is a bit weird,’ Marco explained. ‘From the outside it would seem each house is its own but the whole row is actually connected with halls and stairs. Up here, last one now!’

He glanced back at Jean, expecting to see an unamused scowl. But his face was neutral with downcast eyes as he hummed in reply, his fingers brushing over the windowsill as he passed it.

The attic floor had two parts; one for storage and the other a small apartment. In truth, it wasn’t much more than a room, not even with a full kitchen. The kitchenette was alright, but there was a reason Marco had eaten so many meals at Ymir’s instead – and not only because he didn’t like cooking.

The room had one window facing the street, and around it stood shelves crammed with books all the way up to the sloping ceiling; they were even stacked on the windowsill and the floor. In front of the window was a couch and in the other end a narrow bed, with a small table and four chairs between them. There was also a bench with a tiny TV by the door that Marco wasn’t sure even worked anymore. He hadn’t used it in ages.

Jean gave it a mistrustful stare when they entered and then snorted at the sight of the rest of the room.  ‘Oh wow. Cosy. You did the interior design, grandma?’

Marco started. ‘Uh… it’s my aunt’s place,’ he said, deciding not to mention he’d lived there himself up until a month ago. He followed Jean’s eyes to the wallpapers. ‘She likes flowers.’

‘I can see that.’ Jean walked around the small space, his expression bordering on arrogant. Marco stood silent and tried not to feel like he was the one being judged by that sneer. ‘Mrs Potts – really?’ Jean pointed at the Disney character-shaped clock above the bed and chuckled to himself when Marco didn’t offer any returned amusement. ‘Would you mind if I did any changes? Like those awful curtains? Or I could just pile more stuff in front of them, I guess. It’s not that much space left.’

Marco bit his tongue to stop himself from saying anything inappropriate. In September there would be others interested in a place to stay during the school semesters, but three months remained until then and he couldn’t deny to himself that the money for the rent was needed. ‘Just ask me first,’ he said instead. ‘Your stay here isn’t permanent, but mine is.’

‘Fair enough.’ Jean stopped by the window and took a long look at the books. He even picked up one to read the blurb. ‘So you’re a dragon, huh?’

‘What?’

‘A dragon. You hoard things. Books. Or are they your aunt’s too?’ He looked up and flashed Marco a smile, more genuine this time. Marco didn’t know what to make of him.

‘O-oh uhm, some of them are mine.’ _All of them, actually, because_ _I_ _got hers when she moved_. But he decided not to say that either. ‘I like books.’

‘I figured.’

‘I’ll take my stuff away from the window and all. Don’t worry.’ Marco walked up to the cupboard by the foot of the bed, gesturing to the door beside it as well. ‘Bathroom. Storage for clothes is in there. This is a kitchenette.’ He opened the cupboard to reveal the hotplate, small sink, and microwave inside. ‘Some plates and stuff are left here but I can take them away if you have your own.’

‘No, it’s cool.’

‘Okay, good. Well… there isn’t an oven unfortunately, but if you want to make something more advanced you can use my kitchen downstairs. Just ask first so we can plan it. And perhaps eat together sometime too.’

He shrugged with the last words, but his insides were groaning at himself in frustration.  _Why_  had he offered that? Did he really want this guy to visit him? To spend any more time with him than he had to?  _You know how it's like to cook without an oven_ , a calmer voice reminded Marco _. There’s nothing wrong with being considerate._

Unfortunately, Jean didn’t take it that way. He snorted out a short but harsh laugh. ‘ _Seriously_? How lonely are you?’

‘I was being nice!’ Marco shot back. ‘Maybe you should try it sometime.’

He gave Jean a hard look, wondering if he realised how rude he was being. Did he think acting like this would get him the room if there were others interested too? Judging by how the laugh drained from Jean’s face and the concern that flashed by in his eyes before he looked away, he was aware of it now at least. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, shoulders drawn up and neck hunched while he stared at his shoe poking the floor.

Jean’s discomfort wasn’t as rewarding as Marco had imagined. He already felt bad for snapping. ‘Do you want it or not?’ he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, more for his own sake than with any intention to seem intimidating.

Jean looked back at him, surprised for a moment before he got back in control of his expression. ‘Oh yeah,’ he said with a nod and shoulders slowly relaxing. ‘Yeah, I want it. If it works for you.’

Marco nodded too, letting his own arms fall back to his sides. ‘I can fix a contract till tomorrow. It’s for a trial month first of all, but there shouldn’t be any trouble unless you disturb others with loud parties or something.’

‘Yeah, don’t worry about that. Parties usually require more than one person.’ Jean was looking away again; Marco studied him with a crease between his brows, but didn’t comment.

They stayed a while longer, checking out the bathroom and talking about rent, before returning outside. It was decided they would meet by lunchtime the next day – and then both of them returned to their job.

It was a good thing, getting a tenant, and Marco loved people and to make new friends. But as he watched Jean scribble his name on that binding piece of paper, mixing feelings curled in his stomach. He couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he was signing up for.

*

With no more than a loud knock on the door and then a shouted ‘Helloooo!’ to announce them coming, Sasha and Mikasa let themselves into the apartment. Marco met them in the hallway, still drying his hair with a blue towel after the shower. ‘You said you would come an hour ago,’ he pointed out after glancing at the clock on the wall opposite the door.

‘Yeah, but apparently you weren’t ready for us anyway,’ Sasha replied while struggling to kick off her sandals without using her hands.

Mikasa took off her own shoes and then freed Sasha of the food container and the paper coffee cups balanced on top of it. She handed one to Marco. ‘With _extra_ caramel sauce,’ she announced and sipped her own black tea. ‘And it’s yours this time. Sasha might be ready to devour anything but even she doesn’t consume your amount of sugar.’

Marco gave her a sheepish grin as he took the cup and tasted it, sighing loudly from the warm sweet mix curling on his tongue. Mikasa shook her head and walked farther into the apartment, but soon enough her voice drifted back to the hallway. ‘Oh wow and I thought Armin had problems.’

‘Wha—’ Marco followed and found her turned towards the dining table that was now overflowing with books. ‘Oh! No I haven’t been on a shopping spree. It’s from the attic room. Had to empty it for the tenant.’

‘You got one?!’ Sasha exclaimed from behind him, finally rid of her shoes. She skipped in after Mikasa and reclaimed her coffee with a gleeful grin.

Marco nodded and took another sip from the cup. ‘Yeah, he came over yesterday,’ he said and then gestured for them to wait with any more questions as he went back to the bathroom to leave the towel. When he returned Mikasa had sat down on the couch with the TV remote in one hand, expression bored as she zapped between the channels.

‘So who is it?’ she asked and looked up.

‘Uhm… he works on the Reiss Mansion Project. Needs somewhere else than an inn to stay at while he’s here.’

Mikasa nodded in understanding and looked back at the wildlife documentary currently showing on the TV. Sasha, on the other hand, wanted more information. She bumped into Marco’s hip when she passed him, carrying a plate with a large piece of raspberry pie and vanilla ice cream. ‘Ooooooh,’ she sounded, eyes gleaming mischievously. ‘Which one?’

Marco rolled his eyes at her and accepted the spoon she handed him. ‘Thunder Cloud guy,’ he said after waiting until Sasha had sat down to make sure the pie was safe before he gave her a reason to laugh.

Mikasa snorted at the name. ‘Sounds like a ray of sunshine.’

‘He was kind of rude, actually,’ Marco admitted as he settled down between them. The couch was a bit too small for three people, but like Marco's aunt used to say; if there's room in the heart there's room for the arse. So they sat close together, comfortable in each other's space.  Mikasa took up the least of it, positioned with one leg slung over the armrest and using Marco as support for her back.

‘I think his natural expression is grumpy,’ Sasha said when her cackling had died down. She drew up her knees against her chest, bare feet curled around the edge of the couch cushion, and held up the plate for Marco to share the pie with her. ‘But one time they visited I did see him _almost_ smile and I must say it looked promising. Still, this would have been even funnier if you’d taken a fancy to one of them and it just so happened to be that guy moving in. But alas,’ she added with a dramatic sigh. ‘You didn’t appreciate any of them.’

‘That’s because Marco’s true and only love is sugar.’ Lowering the volume to a low buzzing in the background of their conversation, Mikasa dumped the TV remote on Marco’s lap and took his arm in possession. She brought out a pen from her pocket and inked small positive symbols lazily over his skin. ‘I met your aunt earlier, by the way. She asked about you.’

The magic of the symbols was calming, a warm comfortable buzz vibrating in Marco’s chest as he melted into the pillows. He had asked once if he should get them tattooed, but Mikasa said it was too permanent and could have the wrong effect in the long run.

‘Yeah, ah,’ he hummed with a sigh of comfort. ‘I have to visit her soon. I’ve just been really busy.’

Mikasa didn’t take her eyes from her task when she answered. ‘You might need to chill down with being part of everything going on in this town. Leave the steering wheel to others for a change.’

‘You make it sound as if I’m a control freak.’ Marco frowned at her, taking another spoonful of pie from Sasha’s plate. ‘I just like being involved.’

‘Speaking of involved, we need details for your birthday. When do you get off?’

Marco hesitated, knowing it wasn’t the answer she wanted. ‘By five.’

‘Marco!’ Mikasa’s eyes snapped up from his arm and sent him a hard, frustrated stare. ‘You were supposed to get the afternoon freed!’

‘I know. I tried–’

‘What’s the point of being your own boss when you don’t even take advantage of it on your own birthday?’

Sasha patted Mikasa’s arm, swallowing the last big piece of pie she had in her mouth. ‘It’s alright, though,’ she said, waving Mikasa’s concern away and winked. ‘Perfect even. Means I get the kitchen to myself.’

‘Just don’t burn it down,’ Marco mumbled with a secret smile, bracing against the reaction he suspected those words would get from her. He was right.

‘Hey!’ Sasha shoved him with the empty pie plate. ‘You’re talking to your very own master chef here – give me some faith, alright?’ She pursed her lips and gave him a sulky stare in reply to his laugh, but it didn’t take long until the expression cracked and fell away. She put the plate on the table and elbowed him gently in the side when she sat back. ‘What food do you want?’

Marco shrugged and glanced at Mikasa who was back to doodling on his arm. ‘Make something everyone can eat.’

‘Of course I will!’ Sasha burst out. ‘What do you think of me, that I’d let half the guests go hungry?’ Marco opened his mouth to answer but Sasha silenced him with a pat on his cheek and head, smiling at his frown. ‘There, there. I know what you meant.’ Her fingers played with his hair for a while before she glanced at the plate resting on the table. ‘You want more pie?’

 *

Aunt Rosie lived in the calmest part of town, with no disturbing car engines within earshot. The rows of green, tree rich and flowery gardens were only accessible by the waterways dug out in the place of ordinary roads, or by foot or bike along the sidewalks.

After crossing five bridges and taking a breezy ride in a canoe offered to him by a family acquaintance, Marco stepped in under Rosie’s lilac trees. He found the old lady seated in a white wicker chair on the small front porch of her equally small house. She wore the usual broad-brimmed sun hat over her greying long hair, and even though large sunglasses rested on her nose Marco could picture the laughter lines hiding behind them.

‘Oh how lovely to see you, Marco dear!’ she said and held him close in a warm hug. The dimples in her wrinkly cheeks deepened with the wide smile. She gestured for him to sit down in the other chair. ‘I’ll go put the coffee pot on the stove, you sit here and rest. I’ll be back in a moment!’

Marco made himself comfortable on the pink chair cushion, surrounded by the sweet-scented white flowers of the apple trees growing tall beside the porch. They framed the place in a leafy atmosphere, the soft swirl of the wind and chirping birds among the branches the only sounds that disturbed the quiet.

Cotton, Rosie’s old cat, came by to take a look at Marco with piercing blue eyes. Marco said hello, but she didn’t come closer until he pretended to focus on the worn paint of the railing instead. She rubbed up against his leg, meowing loudly, and shot away again as soon as he bent down to pet her soft fur. Marco chuckled and shook his head. Not everyone was as cuddly as Lady Tiny Paws.

Rosie came back some minutes later with steaming coffee and a plate chock-full of homemade cookies. Marco's mouth watered at the sight. ‘Now tell me what you’ve been up to!’ she said as she sat down. ‘Does the apartment feel nice?’

Marco added sugar and milk to his coffee while nodding. ‘Oh yes, it’s great!’

Rosie beamed over her own cream-topped cup. ‘What about the tenant in the attic?’ she asked, but then continued before Marco had a chance to reply. ‘I’m so glad you found someone to take that room. I knew it would be the right decision to leave this all to you. Will you be inviting the boy for dinner? It’s important he feels welcome, and we know that tiny room might drive someone mad if that’s all the space they’ve got.’

Marco gave her a tight smile. She meant well, but despite her conviction that Marco was capable of anything, even he had limits. Earlier that morning he had passed Jean in the hallway and given him a cheery hello but received no response. ‘Can’t you at least answer me when we meet in the stairs?’ he called after Jean before his meeker side had time to stop him.

Jean’s rushed steps had faltered for a moment, and he glanced over his shoulder back at Marco. But he didn’t apologise or agree or even spit anything back – unless of course his low muttering as he walked on was any of those things.

So yeah. It was hard to reach someone who didn’t want to be reached, and he told Rosie as much. ‘I don’t know him yet,’ he added. ‘And I don’t think he wants to know me anyway, so...’

‘Oh it will come, I’m sure!’ Rosie said and waved away Marco’s concern. ‘Everyone likes you, Marco. Go on, now; take another cookie!’

She chatted on about her everyday life, and Marco let himself be pulled into her enthusiasm. Despite the long stories about people he barely knew, she was soothing and nice to talk to; along with the calm hanging over this part of town it helped settle the nervous nagging in the back of Marco’s mind. By the time he went back home, reassurance about the present and the coming weeks warmed in his chest. She was right; whatever it was the future had in store couldn't be that bad.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo time for chapter 2. Thank you so much for all the nice words after the first one, it means so much to me! I hope you'll enjoy this too, and again, all feedback is very appreciated :')
> 
> Also, a special thanks to [Lulu](http://freckles-of-marco.tumblr.com) for giving Lady Tiny Paws her precious name (and nicknames) <3
> 
> My [tumblr](http://emelianss.tumblr.com) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/emelianss).

Jinae lay on one sloping side of a leafy valley, surrounded by farmland and the deep, old forest with the branching river winding through the trees. The hills stood out green against the blue summer sky, and the fields were ablaze with wild flowers dancing in the breezes.

The town spread out wide, split in different neighbourhoods by parks and waterways both natural and constructed. Almost like small villages growing close together, each with its own special charm. The highest point was the Victorian mansion positioned with a beautiful view over the rest, like a regent sitting on their mountain throne. There the old Reiss family had lived up until it was recently bought from them by a rich outsider. The man in question seemed to have very little interest in the town itself and barely showed himself. But the Reisses on the other hand liked to be seen, and this was the reason why they now had hired workers for the project to build them a new, grand house placed in the centre of events.

The Book Owl lay in walking distance of those finer parts of town, and because the house was being built close to the market square, Marco passed it many times. He spotted Jean among the scaffoldings sometimes, but was either not seen or ignored by the tenant. Not that it was surprising. Jean kept to himself, and any conversations longer than a ‘hello’ was always about things he _had to_ talk with Marco about, like the attic room.

Most things Marco learned about him during the following two weeks were stuff Sasha picked up from overhearing their lunch conversations. He preferred his coffee black and bitter (‘maybe to match his soul’), complained about the job with his co-workers, but never engaged much in their conversations about life outside of work. Though she did hear he was from Trost, a city in the southeast direction connected with Jinae through the railroads. Marco had never been there but from what he’d heard it must be a big contrast coming to this small town after living over 20 years in a large, modern city.

Other details Marco noticed himself by studying Jean when their paths crossed during the days. What stuck with Marco the most was that even when together with his work team, Jean seemed alone. He didn’t look lonely, necessarily. But there was something telling in the way his eyes lingered on groups of friends and couples passing him on the street when he thought no one was watching. Marco couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just vacant viewing; he himselfhad always had friends – Sasha and Mikasa had been by his side since they built sand castles in preschool – but even so he knew how it felt to be lonely. He recognised the signs. It made him concerned, even though he didn’t have any business worrying about the social life of someone he barely knew. Especially not when the person was as rude and unfriendly as Jean. Still, Marco didn’t wish loneliness upon anyone, and he wanted to help if he could.

He didn’t push, though. Some people needed time – and Marco was well aware of that too. He wasn’t in a hurry.

The 16th of June was a cloudy, grey day, but the air was still warm and sparkling with active, magical energies. It was during the lazy morning hours that Jean came stomping through the door, face set in a furious scowl with glaring lightning-eyes finding Marco almost as fast as the doorbell’s ringing reached his ears.

‘The signal is completely gone,’ Jean said without greeting and shook his phone demonstratively. Marco didn’t need any more of an explanation to understand, but Jean wasn’t finished. ‘I’ve been moving around trying to find somewhere it works, but it’s  _dead_.’

‘Oh, yeah, that happens sometimes,’ Marco said, humming a little. ‘It usually comes back in a few days.’

Jean’s eyes widened. ‘ _A few days_?’ he repeated, not believing his ears. ‘What kind of rotten nowhere is this place that doesn’t have proper reception?’

Marco glanced at him from the books and items on the sales table he was trying to arrange in a pleasing way. He reminded himself not to take Jean’s words too seriously, though it did annoy him when people spoke ill of his home because of these sorts of things.  _Jean_  doing this hurt more than it should. Marco really wanted to like him but he kept making it difficult.

‘We  _have_ ,’ Marco pointed out, sterner than intended. ‘As you may have noted before, it’s perfect except for when it dies.’ Jean gave him an unimpressed snort and Marco gritted his teeth. ‘It’s because of the Source,’ he continued, and Jean’s scowl actually shifted somewhat hearing that. ‘Sometimes the waves it sends out crash the reception; it usually happens close to holidays, such as Midsummer next week. Lots of magic in the air around the Summer Solstice, you know? Scientists are still working to find a way around it, but it’s a lot better now than just a decade ago. Besides,’ he added as he turned back towards the table, ‘I think living right by a Source makes it more than worth a few days of cyberspace black outs now and then.’

Jean squinted at him, fidgeting with his hands as he tried to keep the sour look on his face and tone in his voice. But the curiosity still shone through when he muttered a short, ‘You have a Source here?’

Marco smiled to himself, quite proud of getting that reaction from Jean. Though It was a bit surprising that he didn’t know. These spots around the world pulsating magic were great attractions for tourists, and most people who came to Jinae did so to get a taste of the energy flourishing here. Jean couldn’t have done much research about the place he was moving to for a year.

‘Yep,’ Marco said, deciding not to question Jean’s unawareness. ‘They say we’re extra receptive of the magic because we grow up drinking water from the springs.’

‘Hm.’ Jean’s stare fixed on the pens displayed on the counter and his fingers ran along one of them quietly. Marco watched through the corner of his eye, noticing when Jean’s own gaze searched its way back to what Marco was doing. ‘Where is it, then?’

‘Out in the forest somewhere. Not many people know of the exact position, if anyone at all does. I’ve read some Sources are weird like that.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to a Source before.’

Marco grinned over his shoulder. ‘Kinda cool, huh?’

Jean’s eyes gleamed with curiosity, and agreement pulled the corner of his mouth upwards, but he still tried to hide it. ‘I guess, yeah...’

Marco decided that was good enough for now. He returned his attention to the books, humming to himself while he worked. It stayed quiet behind him, and after a while he wondered if he had missed the doorbell declaring Jean exiting. But then Jean spoke again.

‘So what, you can’t call each other or anything for days whenever this happens?’

‘Of course we can.’ Marco frowned at him with an uncertain smile. ‘We use the landlines. You can borrow mine if you need to call someone right away?’

Jean stared at him, by now no longer caring to hide his surprise. ‘I didn’t know landlines still existed.’

Marco’s smile shifted a little. Wow, Trost must be very different from Jinae. ‘Here they do,’ he said, tilting his head in question. ‘You need it now?’

‘Hm? No… no it’s alright, I’ll do it later. Thanks.’ And then Jean actually smiled. It was small and vague, but Marco saw it as a great success nonetheless.

The doorbell rang again and a well-dressed Mrs Reiss came inside, perfect blonde curls flying from under her purple hat. Jean’s eyes moved over her before he slipped away towards the door, only sending Marco a short glance before he left.

Mrs Reiss stopped by the counter and looked after him with a wrinkled nose. ‘That young man needs to learn some manners!’ she said, shaking her head when Marco came up on the other side to assist her with whatever it was she needed. Her strong fruity perfume hit him in the face, and blinking he shook his head a little to get rid of it. ‘Unsurprisingly the team has problems with him. I’m telling you, the only reason he got the job was because he’s good at it.’

‘I don’t think he’s that bad,’ Marco said, overcome by an urge to defend Jean when he wasn’t there to do it himself. ‘He’s just not a people person.’

Mrs Reiss hummed in thought as she opened her handbag. ‘Well, he knows what he’s doing at work, I’ll give him that.’ She gave Marco a curious look, manicured fingertips brushing over the pearls she wore around her neck. ‘You know him?’

‘He’s my tenant.’ Marco gestured upwards with one hand. ‘Lives in the attic.’

‘Oh, and that’s working out for you?’

‘Sure,’ Marco said. Occasional hash comments or not, he couldn’t really claim to have any real problems with Jean.

‘You’re a good person, Marco. But even that can be a bad thing, sometimes. You don’t want to be used.’

Marco hand no answer for that. He tried not to judge people, but he’d heard enough of stories from Christa about awkward family dinners to know her aunt had a tendency not to listen if someone spoke against her. And anyway, they weren’t acquainted enough for him to be comfortable to discuss such things with her. So he let it be, and only gave a tight smile and the ordinary ‘Have a good day!’ response when she left again with her purchase a few minutes later. 

*

Marco’s lunch break started with eating his food while watching Sasha look through his fridge and cupboards. It was to see what ingredients he already had (not enough), and what she needed to buy (a lot). He pointed out that they were only five people and she behaved like she was meant to cook for an entire restaurant. But she only shushed him and gave his cheek a smooch with another ‘Happy birthday!’ in reply. 

When she rushed out again, no doubt already having arranged for someone else to help her carry all the groceries, Marco noticed that Lady Tiny Paws had disappeared after greeting them earlier. He finished his meal and then started searching; it only took a few minutes before he found her on the windowsill in his bedroom, fluffy tail swaying behind her as she stared through the glass.

‘What are you looking at, love?’ Marco asked, scratching the cat behind her ears as he peeked out as well. Lady didn’t pay him any mind; her full attention was directed at another cat strolling down the street. Marco recognised it as the one living in the house next door, and chuckled at Lady’s wide eyes following its every move.

Humming to himself, Marco let his gaze wander over the rest of the street. People rushed past, using their lunch breaks for making quick errands or eating. From here he could see that the outside tables of Sina’s Coffee were full as usual, though not as many were hiding under parasols today. The air was still warm but the sun invisible behind the grey clouds.

Beside the coffee shop, the door to the Corner Kiosk opened and a familiar figure came out. Jean was holding an ice cream cone in one hand, and gave his phone in the other a last scowl before he pushed it back into a pocket. Meanwhile he’d had a book under his arm, and now with one hand free again he held it with more care.

Marco watched him as he walked back homewards. As Jean came closer to their building, Marco noticed that the book looked like a notebook or sketchpad, and he couldn’t help but wonder what Jean filled the pages with. Would he take offence if Marco asked? Maybe. But it might also steal another small smile from him, so it could be worth trying.

Jean’s steps grew more cautious, and Marco, almost expecting him to look up, was ready to wave in case it happened. But Jean’s eyes were set on something ahead of him, sparing no attention for anything else. Still, it wasn’t until he stopped right below them and hunched down that Marco realised it was for the cat. The grey feline met him with the same caution; after a while it came closer and sniffed Jean’s outstretched fingers. The notebook lay for a moment forgotten beside him on the cobblestones, and the ice cream started dripping when his focus was on petting the cat.

‘Meow. Meow meeeow.’ Lady Tiny Paws butted her head into Marco’s arm, and after another moment of persistent meowing he tore his eyes from Jean and looked at her instead.

‘What, you getting jealous of that cat, hm?’

‘Meow.’

‘You want to be petted too?’ Marco smiled at her paw poking his hand and lifted her up into his arms. Lady burrowed closer, purring into his neck, warm and snuggly as ever. ‘Mhmm, can’t have others being cuddled with if you don’t get to do it as well.’

Marco looked down again; the cat was now circling Jean’s legs with tail brushing over his knees. He had noticed the melting ice cream on his fingers and was catching it with his lips, while his other hand still stroked the soft fur. It was a bit hard to see in this angle, but the calm expression falling over Jean’s face definitely held a smile. Sincere and open, for a brief moment showing something else than his usual scowl.

‘He likes cats, hm,’ Marco said to Lady, pressing a kiss to the softness between her ears. ‘He stops in the street to pet them too. We like that, don’t we?’

Lady jerked her head back towards the window as if to look closer on this phenomenon, still purring loudly. Marco leaned to the side to place them both in a position with good view of what was going on below them. But the neighbour’s cat had had enough of attention; without any sign of goodbye it rushed away out of sight, leaving Jean still hunched down.

He looked after it as he straightened up and retrieved his notebook from the ground, soft smile falling with his gaze. He took a quick glance around again, apparently to glare at anyone that might have been watching him, and then hurried on towards the entrance door.

‘Heey Marco!’ Sasha called from the kitchen, already returned from her grocery shopping. Marco suspected she had only gone out to give instructions to a friend to do the rest for her. ‘I’m gonna get started so pick out your clothes and hang them in the bathroom or something. You’re not getting into your room again until after dinner!’

‘You hear that?’ Marco said and hoisted Lady up in a better position. ‘Taking control of our kitchen and bossing us around on my birthday.’ He shook his head dramatically and Lady purred in response. ‘You’ll have to keep an eye on her while I work.’

‘Marco, the door is wide open. I can hear you.’

Marco chuckled and shooed Sasha back into the kitchen when she stuck her head into his bedroom, her expression a mix of amusement and annoyance. She waved the whisk in his face and then left him to look through the wardrobe on his own.

Fifteen minutes later, after being rushed through the kitchen without a chance to snoop around for clues about the dinner, Marco left the apartment in the hands of his friend. It was still a few minutes left of his break, and usually he’d go back anyway. But a thought had taken root in his head, and it urged him to do something he hadn’t planned for this morning. Two steps at the time Marco climbed the stairs to the attic floor, and before he had time to rethink what he was doing, he knocked rapidly on Jean’s door.

Not long after, Jean peered out with a deep frown. ‘What?’

Marco flashed him his most inviting smile and leaned closer, making Jean open the door more. ‘I’m having a dinner party with friends tonight–’

‘Okay, don’t be too loud.’

‘You wanna join us?’

Jean actually gave a short laugh at that, but he didn’t sound amused. ‘Very funny.’

Marco furrowed his brows, storing this piece of information away to think more about later. ‘No, seriously,’ he insisted, trying his best to send out as many genuine signals he could. The last thing he wanted was for Jean to think he was messing with him. ‘Do you want to come?’

Thought and hesitation spread in ripples over Jean’s face, before he shook it away with his answer. ‘No thanks.’

‘My cat would like to meet you too,’ Marco blurted, not exactly sure why he said that. But Jean’s wide eyes and the slight flush to his cheeks as he realised he must have been seen earlier washed away Marco’s own embarrassment.

‘Maybe another time,’ he said, voice subdued and expression strangely empty.

‘Okay. Oh and by the way, I saw you with ice cream from the Corner Kiosk. It’s good, but you should try Maria’s up on Northern Square Street. It’s my favourite.’

Jean gave him a long look, and then nodded a little. ‘Okay. I’ll check it out.’

Marco smiled and turned to leave. ‘I have to go back to work now, but if you change your mind it starts at 6!’ he added with one foot on the lower step. ‘You’re more than welcome to come.’

Jean gave another short nod before he closed the door.

*

The air was filled with tasteful smells spreading through the air from the kitchen when Marco came back home by the end of the day. It was accompanied by the clatter of pots and buckets being moved around as Sasha worked, catchy songs playing from the radio. Marco tried to sneak a peek, but Sasha was faster and shooed him away towards the bathroom with no ears for his curious protests.

‘You’re even later than supposed to be, so go get ready now!’ she hurried him on. ‘If you’re not done when Mikasa comes she’ll go on another rant about how you were supposed to go early from work.’

Marco’s hair had barely dried when Mikasa and her brother Eren arrived; she squinted at the damp curls of his parted bangs when he greeted them, but didn’t comment. Instead, she and Eren sandwiched him between them, cheery congratulations echoing in the lobby so loud it sounded like they were five times as many. It drew Sasha’s attention, and she jumped onto the hug in full speed, cackling when she almost knocked them over.

‘Is Armin coming?’ she asked when they’d untangled themselves from each other and she returned to the kitchen. ‘The food is ready to go into the oven but I don’t want it to go cold before he gets here.’

‘We checked in when we passed and then he was closing the shop,’ Eren said, ‘So he should be here soon.’

‘Good, good.’ Sasha thrummed with her fingers on the wall, earning a curious look from Lady at the sound. ‘Are you guys hungry? I mean, should we start with eating, or presents?’

Marco’s eyes darted from the cat to Sasha and then the other two. ‘No wait, I said no presents–’

Mikasa snorted with her hand in the canvas bag she’d carried with her. ‘As if. You tricked us last year but then you got stuff for our birthdays anyway.’ She brought out two gifts wrapped in shining colourful papers and decorated with big ribbons, shaking them lightly in front of Marco with a meaning stare. ‘So nope, sorry not listening to that.’

Because their stomachs started growling in a choir before Armin even got there, they decided to start with eating. Settled around the table wearing party hats Eren had borrowed from work, they welcomed the starter Sasha danced in with; two plates with small, varying appetisers of colourful vegetables, cheese pies formed into flowers and bread cut in the shape of hearts.

‘Those are vegetarian,’ Sasha directed with a gesture towards plate she placed closest to the siblings. ‘And special bread for Armin in these.’

Even though cool summer evening light shimmered in the windows from outside, Sasha was determined to have lit candles on the table. The small flickering flames changed colours as they danced between the gathered friends, adding to the cosy atmosphere already created with their company and soft laughter.

Marco was seated at the head, surrounded by rainbow balloons and the arrangements of fragrant flowers he had received during the day. Armin’s flowers had joined the bouquets Marco had gotten earlier, among them from Petra and Sasha. But the biggest one was from his parents; they both worked this evening, and it had therefore been decided they would celebrate Marco the coming weekend. They’d stopped by the bookshop to hug and kiss him before their shifts started, though. A while later aunt Rosie came too, carrying a basket full of herbs and flowers from her garden. Sasha squealed in delight when Marco placed it on the kitchen bench, and eagerly promised to use some of it for the dinner.

Now she stood swaying on the balls of her feet, face split in an excited smile as she watched them inspect the starter. She was always eager to share the thoughts behind her work.

‘Sooo,’  Armin said with a soft smile.  ’What’s the theme of this dinner? What’s your red string?’

Sasha straightened up with a satisfied expression. ‘The theme,’ she said, turning towards Marco with her hand on her chest and a playful sentimental smile, ‘is my love for the birthday child.’ She tried her best to keep from giggling with the others’ chuckles, and then made a gesture towards the plates on the table. ‘Which will be represented with hearts, cute things because  _he’s_  cute, and sweets because that’s what he likes. This starter may not look like much, but trust me it was a conscious choice. Because this dinner is for Marco and I figured he’d want to save a place in his stomach for dessert.’

She winked and sat down on Marco’s right, giving his arm a loving squeeze before her full attention focused on eating.

The following main course was a vegetarian meal; potato wedges and Quorn bites cooked in a roasting pan in the oven with feta cheese, tomatoes, paprika, and onion slices cut or placed in heart and star shapes on top. Marco had no idea how Sasha had managed to make such a beautiful arrangement on the plates, but didn’t wonder about it for long. It smelled delicious, and he drooled with gleaming eyes, earning delighted chuckles from the others.

‘At first I planned something much bigger, but Mikasa stopped it,’ Sasha said with acted sadness as she chewed down the potato from her fork.

Eren gave his sister a curious look; Mikasa rolled her eyes. ‘She intended to make like three different main courses,’ she explained and then nodded towards Marco. ‘Remember that when you see the desserts.’

Marco looked from her back to Sasha with a raised eyebrow; he only got a smug smirk in reply.

It took three turns for Sasha to bring in all the desserts on her own. First came the birthday cake, twenty four candles circling the congratulation written with red decorating gel on the white cream. Then followed chocolate cupcakes with raspberries, lemon cake, seven different biscuits and cookies, and cappuccino cake white chocolate icing.

‘Ta-Da!’

‘ _Sasha_!’ Marco gaped at the table full of gorgeous sweets. ‘I told you to make something everyone can eat, not ten different things!’

‘Aww come on Marco, don’t ruin my fun.’

‘How am I going to choose between these? I love everything!’

‘You can take a bit of everything! And anyway those without flour,’ she said, pointing at the lemon and cappuccino cakes, ‘are for Armin first of all so that narrows it down a little.’

Armin looked from the two cakes to Sasha and then at Marco. ‘It’s not like I’m going to eat all of this on my own,’ he pointed out and Marco made a meaning gesture with his arm.

‘I’m not being ungrateful or anything,’ he said. ‘Like wow, on the contrary. But, Sash… it’s  _too much_.’

‘Oh no, there’s no such thing as too much food.’ Sasha waved it away and patted her soft belly lovingly. ‘And if you can’t have it all, it means extra food for me. I’m not complaining. Now try them! These delicious little things won’t eat themselves!’

They tucked into the sugar feast, complimenting Sasha’s handiwork with pleased sighs and more coherent sentences. They ate slowly, chatting and laughing between trying the different sweets. Marco’s stomach was long since full, but he couldn’t stop himself from tasting a piece of everything.

‘How’s it with that Kirstein guy who rents your attic?’ Eren asked suddenly. ‘He’s really been getting on my nerves.’

Marco chewed down the cake, frowning. ‘You know him?’

Eren made a vague mix of a shrug and a nod. ‘They’re renovating part of Sun Garden so he’s there like twice a week and he’s pissing me off every time. But at the same time I can’t hate him because I’ve seen him with the kids.’

Sun Garden was a child care institution bordering on orphanage situated by the cosy woods a few streets away. It took in children without or between homes until new arrangements had been made, giving them a few months or sometimes even years of calm in this peaceful little town before taking them safely to their new families. That’s how Mikasa had first come here; in the end she was adopted by one of the couples who run the place, becoming Eren’s sister. He was two years older than her, and yet she had a tendency to be the one taking care of him – now as well as during their adolescent. At this point it was mostly out of habit, though. Eren was more than able to take care of himself, and didn’t get into quite as much trouble in his mid-twenties as he had done in his teens.

The crease between Marco’s brows deepened as he tried to interpret what Eren meant and how much of a problem it’d been if Jean had come to the dinner. Maybe it was good he’d said no to the invitation. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s the way he’s around them,’ Eren said. ‘He talks with them like they’re people, you know? Not that patronising bullshit a lot of adults have going on. And it’s so clear how comfortable they are around him – I don’t get it but that’s how it is. On his break yesterday he sat down and drew houses with them.’ Eren made a wide questioning gesture with his hands. ‘Like, there’s no other way to describe it than “sweet”. All that grumpy arrogance was gone. He might be an ass most of the time but I can’t dislike someone who’s that way with the kids. It’s very confusing.’

Marco couldn’t help the smile from spreading wide in his face. He wasn’t sure why but hearing this made him proud. Of course he preferred hearing positive things about people rather than negative, but this was also another sign that Jean probably wasn’t as bad as he gave the impression of being. He felt Mikasa’s watching him, but only flashed her another grin in reply.

By the time they’d finished eating it was still so much food and sweets left that it’d last at least a week. Sasha offered to stop by every day and help with all the leftovers so they wouldn’t go bad. ‘Then that problem’s solved,’ Mikasa remarked dryly. ‘Won’t last long with Sasha around.’ 

Sasha glared at her from the couch where she was sprawling in post-dinner food coma, but then patted her full stomach with a content smile.

The evening continued with games and laughter, silly presents and loud singing, both birthday songs and along with the music played through the TV. The air filled with good energy, arms covered with happy symbols both magical and goofy, and Marco’s spirit was high as the ceiling before it came to an end. It might be a result of the wine too, but neither of them really drank that much.

Close to midnight the telephone called for Marco’s attention, and the warm happiness in his chest increased further when hearing his sister’s and her girlfriend’s voices singing on the other end. Ymir had texted and tried to call earlier, but with Jinae’s reception being currently dead neither had gotten through. She was glad she’d finally found a landline phone booth in the maze of the large city they were currently in.

Not long after the call had ended, it was time for the dinner party to do the same. Still laughing, they all stumbled down the stairs and out on the street. Mikasa was the calmest and remained by Marco’s side when Armin was dragged along into a dance by the other two. Marco was filled with bubbly laughter at the sight of them; he had smiled so much tonight he wouldn’t be surprised if his cheek muscles were sore the next morning.

‘He’s been watching us since we got outside,’ Mikasa said suddenly, nodding towards the windows above. Marco followed her gesture with a glance; in the top window, Jean’s silhouette was hiding behind the curtains. He seemed to notice he’d been seen because he quickly withdrew when Marco looked up, not giving him time to raise his hand in hello. Marco turned back towards Mikasa, exchanging a silent gaze before they were called for by the loud, dancing friends.

‘Maaarco!’ Sasha sung, throwing her arms around him. ‘You’ve had a good birthday, yeah?’

‘Absolutely,’ Marco laughed in reply.

Seven hugs and a few more congratulations later, Marco waved goodbye to the group and returned inside. But he didn’t stop on his floor when he reached it; instead he continued up the last flight of stairs to the attic. He knocked the door even more eager than he’d done earlier on his lunch break, and as soon as the door opened slightly he burst out an enthusiastic, ‘Hello!’

Jean peered at him with a suspicious scowl. ‘What do you want?’

‘I saw you watching us,’ Marco admitted with a vague gesture of his hand, swaying a little on the spot after the quick run up the stairs. ‘Through the window.’

‘Yeah, so? You were screaming.’ Jean squinted at Marco's unsteady feet. ‘Are you drunk?’

‘Nope.’

‘Yeah, sure.’

Marco shook his head with a wide grin, but still leaned on the doorframe to stop swaying. Jean stepped back a little to recover his own personal space. ‘I get like this when I’m happy! With good company, nice energy…’

‘Dumb idea to talk to me then,’ Jean muttered.

Marco ignored him. He glanced into the room over Jean's shoulder, noticing how the table was full of papers and different pens scattered over them. Like,  _a lot_. How many different pens could one person need at once?

Jean noticed him prying and stepped in to block his view with a warning glare. Marco apologised by looking away and let his eyes slide towards the window in the stairwell. ‘You wanna take a walk?’

His eyes returned to Jean just in time to see the scowl crack in surprise. ‘What?’

‘Walk. With me.’

‘Now?' Jean gestured towards the dusk outside the glass Marco had been looking through a moment before. 'It’s in the middle of the night.’

Marco crossed his arms over his chest, nodding at Jean standing there fully dressed. ‘You’re still up.'

‘Yeah, but I’m not going out.’

‘I’ll get you cookies or something else good!’

‘You’re trying to lure me out with sweets? How old do you think I am?’

‘Five and a half?’ Marco suggested and poked his tongue out between the teeth in his cheeky smile.

‘Fuck off.’ Jean's eyes flashed with anger, but there was something else hidden there too. Amusement? Just a tiny bit? At least that's what Marco hoped, because he had no intention to make Jean mad.

‘Ohh, come on! Please?’

Jean sighed and shook his head, pulling at the doorknob to close the door between them. ‘Go to bed, Marco.’

‘But it’s my birthday!' Marco tried to argue, making his best puppy eyes impression and hoping Jean would fall for it. 'Or it was yesterday, since it’s past midnight now but…’

Jean's movement faltered, hesitation and surprise painting his features silent. Marco took his chance to make another argument. ‘Don’t you want to see the Source?’ he asked, giving Jean a meaning look.

By now Jean had completely stopped trying to close the door. 'But it’s dark,’ came his last attempt to not allowing Marco to win, but it was feeble.

‘Adds mystery to the atmosphere,’ Marco said with a secretive smile. ‘Come on!’

‘Okay, fine.’

Marco cheered and leapt back towards the stairs, noticing through the corner of his eye that a half-amused smile quirked Jean's lips. He said he would be down soon, but there was something else he had to do first. Marco nodded and left him to take his time.

It didn’t take long before Jean came through the front door and stepped down to the ground in front of Marco. His brows were creased in a frown, and hands pushed down into the pockets of his jeans, the whole pose tense and uncertain despite the crooked smirk on his face. Marco hummed and smiled in reply, turning to lead the way with a gesture of his arm. They fell into step beside each other, and the silence grew.  Marco was in too much of a good mood to be bothered by it, but Jean wasn’t as relaxed.

‘So,’ he said finally, stretching the vowel out and eyeing Marco’s profile with piercing eyes. ‘It’s your birthday?’

‘Yep!’ Marco beamed. He was acting with the excitement of a child, but he didn’t care. Things were good and he wasn’t going to hide it.

Jean raised an eyebrow at him, but the smile pulling at his mouth erased the judging traces from his expression. ‘Happy birthday then, I guess.’

‘Thank you!’

Not to let the silence turn awkward, Marco started pointing out things as they walked. He told Jean silly stories he came to think of, about the peculiar people living in the houses or things he'd heard or done himself during his childhood. They moved through the balmy summer night at a leisurely pace, air swirling with the faint scent of freshly cut grass from the rows of lawns they walked past. It didn’t take long before the tenseness in Jean’s posture eased, and the smirk turned into fleeting smiles and low chuckles joined with Marco’s sniggering at the memories.

‘Do you have a plan for where we’re going?’ Jean asked after a while when Marco had finished the tale of when his old classmate had brought her pet rat to school and the chaos caused when it escaped. ‘Not that it’s necessary, I’m just curious.’

‘I do, actually,’ Marco said with a wide smile. ‘I’d take you to Maria’s but it’s closed this late, so I’m gonna show you the Mid-Night Café.’

Jean snorted, but it wasn’t unkind this time. ‘You weren’t joking about luring me out with sweets, huh?’

‘Course not. And speaking of cookies,’ he added and then told Jean about that time his mum had taken her children for a visit to an old retired co-worker who lived in one of the houses they passed. The lady had given them dry cookies that ended up half-chewed on the floor because five-year-old Marco didn’t like them. Their mother had scolded him while Ymir cackled in the background. Even though Marco didn’t remember any of this, he was still convinced it was his sister who had suggested he should spit out the cookie when she saw his displeased expression. But that didn’t stop the woman from giving him the stink eye for years after.

‘Usually people tend to see Ymir as the culprit, though. Every time we were caught doing some prank she started she tried to blame it on me, but no-one ever believed her.’ Marco chuckled and scratched a mosquito bite on his elbow. ‘Perfect for when I really did start doing mischief. I got away with anything. It really pissed her off.’

‘I can imagine that. It’s like with my baby sister; whenever she does shit people assume it’s somehow my doing, even though I might not even have been there. It’s ridiculous. I hate how younger siblings seem to be excused from everything. I can’t believe you’re one of those.’ Jean gave Marco a playful glare and shook his head in disappointment, before adding, ‘You feel more like a big brother, to be honest.’

‘I do? Why?’

Jean shrugged. ‘Dunno. Just something about how you behave.’

Marco eyed him curiously, asking without words for more. But Jean was looking away at the house closest to them on the street. Marco hummed in thought. ‘Well, I’ve been around a lot of children,’ he said after a while. ‘Sasha has three younger sisters so I’ve helped babysit them many times, and then I had summer jobs at Sun Garden too…’ When Jean didn’t offer any reply, Marco asked, ‘How old is your sister?’

‘Nineteen. So not much of a baby anymore but…’ Jean’s voice trailed off again, and for the first time since they started walking, Marco found the silence a bit uncomfortable. He tried to think of something more to say, but his brain failed to come up with anything. Jean watched the buildings in silence; Marco wasn’t sure if it was because his mood had dropped or because he found them interesting to look at. Marco hoped for the latter, but when he intended to ask his voice failed him too.

Luckily, they weren’t far from the Mid-Night Café at this point, and as soon as Marco spotted the warm lights from the windows, he pointed at it for Jean. ‘There it is! We could sit inside if you want, but I thought since it’s such lovely weather it’d be nice to go down to the canal as well.’

Jean shrugged. ‘Anything’s fine by me. It’s your birthday, so you decide.’

It was a delightful small café, with illustrative stars painted in constellations across the dark blue wallpapers above the wainscoting. It was furnished with small round tables and matching decorative chairs, all in black.

Marco pointed out his favourite flavours; except for the Midnight Special, he absolutely loved Dreamland, Starlight, and Moon Beam. Jean chuckled at the names, eyes following Marco’s finger as it moved over the ice cream boxes in the display case.

‘How much does it cost?’ he asked finally, gaze searching the prices on the board on the wall behind the counter. ‘Fancy stuff like this is usually expensive.’

‘Oh don’t think about that – it’s on me.’

Jean’s eyes darted back to Marco. ‘What? You’re not gonna buy me this.’

‘Of course I will,’ Marco answered matter-of-factly. ‘It’s my birthday; you didn’t come to the dinner so now I’m giving you this instead.’

‘Aren’t  _you_  the one supposed to get things on your birthday?’

Marco shrugged. ‘You can pay next time.’ It might have been a step too much to assume there would even be a next time, but he noticed Jean’s wide eyes and smiled both to himself and the girl when paying for their order.

After receiving two big cons of Starlight –dark and light blue ice cream swirling around each other with white chocolate and silver stars sprinkles – Marco lead the way down to the closest canal, seating himself on the edge with his feet swinging free above the water. Jean sat down beside him, quiet again after being given the cold dessert. But it wasn’t awkward now.

Humming to himself with melting white chocolate chips on his tongue, Marco let his eyes wander over the surroundings. A bit farther away, glowing light balls danced above the water, golden sparkles trailing behind the movement. He nudged Jean’s shoulder and pointed in the same movement. ‘Maybe it’s fairies.’

Jean snorted but his expression changed to surprise when saw no trace of joking in Marco’s face. ‘Wait, really?’

Marco scratched at his chin, thoughtful. ‘I’m not sure. Might be something else too. I saw a fairy once, up close. They’re like… so small,’ he said and showed with his thumb and index finger. ‘Tiny little things, and if it wasn’t for the light you might miss them completely.’

‘Huh. Wow.’ Jean was silent for a while, the awe clear in his soft expression. Then he focused on Marco again. ‘So there are fairies in the woods here?’

‘Mmhm.’

‘Cool. Trost isn’t like this at all.’

Marco tilted his head in interest. ‘I’ve never been there,’ he said. ‘What’s it like?’

Jean shrugged but didn't seem to want to dive into the topic. 'Just different.'

Silence fell again while they ate of their ice cream. ‘So where is it?’ Jean asked finally. Marco made a questioning sound and he added, ‘The Source.’

‘Oh it’s out in the forest,’ Marco explained with a hand-wave.

‘Weren’t you supposed to show it to me?’

‘Of course not, we can’t go out there in the dark! Do you know what creatures wakes up after midnight?!’ Marco made an overdramatic imitation of a monster growl, and Jean shook his head with an eye-roll.

‘God, you’re still drunk.’

‘Am not! And anyway, I already told you I don’t know where it is, so you knew I wouldn’t take you there now. I think you came along because you simply wanted to hang out with me.’

‘Or because you wouldn’t take no for an answer.’

Marco hummed, but his confident smile didn’t falter. He poked Jean in the side with his elbow until Jean’s expression formed a more genuine smirk. ‘Jokes aside,’ he said then. ‘I thought you might need a push. If that’s not the case, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.’

Jean’s eyebrows shot up and disappeared behind his long bangs. ‘No! No it’s – it’s fine…ahh…’ He fumbled with the ice cream cup, eyes moving rapidly while he searched for something to say. ‘At least I got to taste this,’ he managed finally, and added with a meaning nod, ‘for free.’

‘Mmmmm it’s delicious, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah.’ Jean grinned, but his face soon fell with a sigh. ‘Look, Marco. It’s nice and all but you don’t have to do this. You don’t even like me.’

Marco stopped with the spoon halfway to his mouth and frowned. ‘I think you’re pretty okay,’ he said and let his hands and what they held rest in his lap. ‘I mean I don’t know you yet but I think so.’

Jean made a wide gesture with his arm. ‘See, this is what I mean. I have done nothing to deserve that – you shouldn’t even have let me take the attic, for god’s sake! I’m not good at making friends, and you don’t have to act as if that isn’t true.’

Poking the remaining ice cream with the spoon, Marco chewed on his lip in thought. ‘If you want people to like you’, he tried tentatively, ‘maybe you should try being, you know...  _likable_. Be nice to people. It's not that hard.’ He was silent for a while, watching Jean’s scowl while waiting for a reply but Jean insisted on staring in the other direction. ‘You can practise on me,’ Marco added finally, looking at him expectantly.

Jean laughed harshly. ‘Oh wow you pity me enough to pretend to be my friend, I’m honoured.’

‘So make it  _real_ , Jean,’ Marco shot back, catching his eyes with his own stern ones. ‘Make an effort. Stop pushing people away by insulting them and being mean.’

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘You seem lonely. And yeah you’ve been pretty rude,’ Marco added, pointing out without saying it that he hadn’t miraculously forgotten about most interactions they’d had so far. ‘But I also heard of how sweet you are with the kids at Sun Garden...’

‘Wh-what?’ Jean spluttered, eyes widening in surprise while a blush lit his ears with a burning red colour.

Marco nodded. ‘Came from someone who doesn’t like you much, too. But he still told me that. You’re nice to children and animals, so you can’t be that bad.’ Marco gave him a gentle smile and bumped his side with his elbow again. ‘And I'm the friendship guy. Figured I'm as good a start as any. Also, tonight was nice, really. I’m not just saying that. I’d like to do this again.’

Jean studied him with an unreadable expression in his eyes. The colour of his ears had subdued to a faint pink, and stillness fell over his being as he looked down at the dark water.

‘If nothing else,’ Marco said, drawing his attention again, ‘I have to make sure you try all the delicious sweets that Jinae has to offer. It’s my duty as your landlord.’

That made Jean’s face split in a sudden, warm smile so wide it even revealed dimples in his cheeks. It was a pretty sight; people smiling was something Marco cherished, and to finally get one as genuine as this from Jean was probably among the best parts of the night.

‘Friendship guy, huh?’ Jean chuckled. ‘You’re quite something, aren’t you, Freckles?’

Marco beamed. He raised his cup in a toast and Jean met it with his own. They shook the melted cream around as if it had been wine before they downed it like drinks, coughing from the cold rushing down their throats and then laughing at the blue colour of their lips.

This had been a good birthday indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh yes update time! Now introducing Jean's POV. He's been very impatient while waiting for his turn, so, thanks to that, this chapter didn't take as long as the previous one. Because the next is set during October I'd hoped to have it done for Halloween but unfortunately that's not very likely to happen. I'll be working on it as much as possible until NaNo starts on Sunday, but we'll just have to wait and see when I can finish it. Until then, I hope you enjoy this one, and as always I'd love to hear what you think! :D
> 
> My [tumblr](http://emelianss.tumblr.com) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/emelianss).

Jean woke up with the blanket sticking to his skin, boiling in the awful heat of the attic room. Groaning and cursing this life he’d been given, he managed to roll out of bed and escape to the shower. But because of his growling stomach demanding food he had to end the moment of bliss far too soon for his liking.

August was hell. Worse than summers used to be in Trost; positioned farther north, Jean had expected Jinae to be pretty okay. But it wasn’t. The nice breezes that usually cooled the hot air had stopped over a week ago, and now the townspeople were slowly dying in the heat. For the first time since he got here, Jean found himself  _grateful_ that he didn’t have to be in Trost right now. Judging by what his mum told him over the phone it was even more horrible there.

This summer had really tested his dislike for wearing shorts too – he didn’t even own a pair. The closest he got was the swim trunks, and he wasn’t going to walk around town wearing those. Marco had tried to make him buy either shorts or a skirt (‘Please love yourself, Jean’) and had at least been convincing enough for Jean to try some out in the store. But Jean couldn’t stand it though, not with how ridiculous his thin legs looked sticking out of them. Of course Marco insisted that he looked great, and while compliments sure brought smug smirks to Jean’s face it didn’t change how he viewed his reflection himself. He would be the first to say that he looked _great_  in skinny jeans, but  _this_... no. Not happening. No shorts bought, and now he was paying the price for it.

Still only wearing boxers and dreading having to put on more layers, Jean inspected the culprit behind the blistering warmth in his room. The fan stood motionless on the floor. He switched sockets to see if it was what caused the problem, but it remained still and silent. Jean cursed under his breath and gave it a kick, which was likely to worsen rather than help with its bad state but he didn’t care. It was already broken anyway.

An open window didn’t do much good either; more oppressive air pushed inside and Jean whined in frustration. He was tempted to just give up on everything and go back to bed, but a single glance at the damp blankets was enough for him to remember how not pleasing that would be.

After silencing his complaining stomach with breakfast, he forced clothes onto his clammy skin while muttering under his breath. He rolled up the jeans the best he could – which wasn’t enough to feel any cooler – and decided that as long as he stayed in the shadows it hopefully wouldn’t hurt too much wearing a tank top. If luck wasn’t with him, he’d have to suffer sunburns too. Ugh. He had to remind himself to get a new tube of sunscreen.

It actually did get somewhat cooler when he had melted down the stairs to Marco’s floor, and even more so on the one below. This gave him new hope. He hurried on, out through the front door and down the steps to the street, before finally pushing into the bookshop awaiting salvation.

Marco chuckled when he saw him.

‘Oh, you’re the kind of guy who finds amusement in other’s pain, huh?’ Jean muttered, but then let out a pleased sigh when the cool air washed over his sticky skin. ‘Ahhhh… whatever spell you’ve used for this, please bless my room with it too.’

Marco smiled. ‘I’m afraid it isn’t me. It’s the man upstairs who’s got this magical artefact from the other side of the world that sends out cool air. That’s why the bookshop is cool, and the floor of my apartment. Isn’t super fun in winter though, but I like wearing warm socks so it’s okay.’ He poked out his tongue between his teeth, grin widening for a moment before he found his manners and looked sympathising. ‘But it doesn’t reach the attic, huh?’

‘No. And now the fan broke last night so I woke up boiling.’ Jean groaned and fell down into one of the reading chairs close to the bookshelves Marco was stocking with new books.

‘My shift ends in an hour,’ Marco said. ‘We can go take a bath after that if you want.’

Jean cracked an eye open to look at him. ‘Where? In the canal?’

‘I was thinking of a lake,’ Marco chuckled, raising an eyebrow at him. ‘Or you want to swim in the middle of town?’  

‘No, no. That’s why I asked. Sounds good then.’ Jean leaned back in the chair with closed eyes, relishing the clearer air. When Marco rolled the trolley around him to another bookshelf, Jean eyes found him again. ‘Hey, how does it work?’ he asked, getting a questioning look from Marco. Jean gestured towards the books. ‘You seem to get a lot of new ones all the time. Do you really sell that much? I mean, with the internet being cheaper and all.’

Marco’s body stiffened, his lips pressing into a tight line as he turned away. ‘People here like to support their local bookstore,’ he said after a while, but the cheer in his voice didn’t sound quite genuine.  _Right. Maye that wasn’t the best thing you could have asked_.

‘Oh, that’s good,’ Jean said quickly and tapped his fingers on his thigh, pretending he didn’t notice the change in atmosphere. ‘Good, good…’

Marco pushed the books into their places with more force after that, and when he offered a smile before moving again it didn’t reach his eyes. Jean scowled at the floor.  _Great job, Kirstein._

Then the doorbell played the tune Jean recognised as the one for Marco’s family. He was quite pleased with himself about having learned that, but of course it helped that Marco had played them all for him earlier. There was one melody for family, one for Sasha, one for Mikasa and one in general for other friends. Jean wondered how many times he could fuck up before Marco decided he did no longer belong in the Friends Tune category.

Marco hurried away, mumbling about checking who had come in and what they wanted, but Jean suspected it was more to flee the tension. Family and friends searched for Marco on their own, he didn’t need to rush to their aid like with other customers.

Laughter and yells of surprised joy broke out between the shelves and burned away the last bits of discomfort lingering in the air. Jean sat up on the edge of the chair, ready to rise and walk over there as well, but unsure if he should. Perhaps it was better to leave Marco alone? In any case, whatever brought such happiness must be a family business. It had nothing to do with Jean.

But his curiosity won in the end, and when he rounded the last shelf found Marco hugging two women with a radiating smile in his face.

‘It’s been so long!’ he exclaimed when he untangled himself from the smaller blonde girl and squeezed the arm of the brunette standing beside him. Wow, they looked a lot like each other; freckled tanned skin and dark hair, though the woman’s was longer and pulled back in a messy pony tail. ‘Jean!’ Marco waved him over, any annoyance he might have held for him earlier now gone without a trace. His eyes were gleaming. ‘This is my sister Ymir and her girlfriend Christa!’

When Jean got close enough, Marco grabbed his elbow and tugged him into their little circle. The women gave him curious looks, and Jean offered an awkward ‘Hello.’

‘So this is the attic guy?’ Ymir asked with a smirk and bumped her hip into Marco’s. She was tall, so close to Jean’s height she would be taller than him in high heels. Something about her made Jean doubt she was the high heels kind of girl, though.

The meaning of her tone wasn’t lost on Jean, but Marco ignored it. He didn’t even acknowledge his sister’s words long enough to send a glance of a warning in her direction. Jean was glad for it; if his only friend here got _that_ kind of interest in him, things would turn awkward really fast. Just the thought made him uncomfortable. He poked with the toe of his shoe on the floor, looking away from their glances.

Christa either noticed the tension and decided to help, or was gifted with amazing timing. ‘Actually,’ she said, wriggling her hand before them and catching the light in the silver around her finger. ‘It’s fiancée now.’

Marco squealed in delight and hugged them again, all while showering them with congratulations. Jean gave a tight smile and a nod in reply, but stepped back. He had been right; this truly was none of his business **.** Especially not when he couldn’t even pretend to be genuinely happy for the couple.  _Selfish. You’re so fucking selfish._

‘We’re only staying for the night,’ Ymir continued when the cheering had calmed down again. ‘Got the next train to catch tomorrow morning. So I hope my little brother is ready for a BIRTHDAY PARTY!’

‘And with that she means a picnic,’ Christa translated, smiling.

‘I just have 40 minutes left of work!’ Marco beamed with clasped hands.

  _Of course_. Jean forced himself to swallow the bitterness and turned away to look at the cards on the counter. There were no new ones. He’d seen them all before.

‘But me and Jean were gonna hang out–’

‘Oh bring him along!’ Ymir said with a wave of her hand, and for a short moment the ugly feeling in Jean’s stomach lessened. But she wasn’t done. ‘Isn’t more than right, eh? I got my date so you should get yours too.’

The silence couldn’t have lasted as long as it seemed. Jean’s stomach churned, and it wasn’t in a pleasant way. Why did she have to say that? Why did people have to make  _everything_  about dating and relationships? Cold prickled at his neck. Where they watching him? Waiting for a reaction?

And why wasn’t Marco correcting her? Did he see it that way too? Was that what he expected from Jean?

No, nope. Not today. He had to get away from this.

Jean swirled around quickly, in time to see Marco send his sister a hard glare. No sign of embarrassment hiding behind flustered frustration, only plain, fed up annoyance. Okay. Maybe nothing to worry about, then.

‘I just remembered I have work today, because I switched shift with Connie,’ he said anyway, before he had time to stop himself. ‘Can’t believe I forgot that...’

‘Oh.’ For a moment Marco looked disappointed, but he soon replaced it with a smile. ‘Another time then!’

‘Yeah...’ Jean stepped around them, heading for the door. Some of the tension might have eased, but leaving was still for the best. Especially since he had just excused himself from spending time with them. ‘It was nice meeting you guys,’ he said, nodding towards Ymir and Christa. ‘Have fun!’

‘Sure thing,’ Ymir grinned and pulled her brother closer by hooking her arm around his neck. With Marco being taller than her it didn’t seem like a very comfortable pose for him but he only smiled and gave Jean a wave. Jean left without saying anything more.

*

Even when Jean still hated being here there was one thing he couldn’t help but love about Jinae. The architecture was marvellous. He understood the townspeople viewed the old Reiss Mansion as the crown jewel, but the rest of the houses were just as fascinating and beautiful in his opinion. There was a mix of styles and elements, some alike the mansion and others with more modern additions. But every house – big and small, old and new – was an artwork in itself, decorated and painted in pretty colours. Added to this were all the blooming trees and plants surrounding them, and the magic always hanging in the air.

In short, Jean was sold.He’d barely touched his sketchbook for months before he got here, and now he had already filled one and started a second. Pages upon pages of drawings in different progressive stages. Houses in rows and single ones. Walls covered with flowers and trees growing close to them. Canals and waterways flowing between homes and cafés. Jinae was beautiful; he was happy if he was able to capture only a fraction of the reality.

Today Jean found a spot in the shade of a large tree, muttering to any bugs close by that they better keep their distance from him. The plan was to sketch what houses he saw, and here he had both a nice view and protection from the sun. He wouldn’t let it be ruined by any crawling, disgusting little monsters with too many legs.

On one drawing some kids playing hopscotch sneaked in too. He didn’t usually draw humans very much because he found them a lot harder. But despite the earlier disappointment the day had given him he was in a good enough mood not to care about sketchy anatomy looking weird. A familiar short melodydrew his attention from the drawing, a sudden rush of excitement jolting through him. He dropped the pen to scramble for the phone, a grin already spreading in his face.

But it wasn’t for him. It was the app telling him that the friends he waited for chat replies from were busy commenting on each other’s public statuses instead. Jean scowled at the screen as he scrolled through the activity of their past days, photos and comments and signs of how busy their lives were and how little he fit into their world anymore. He hadn’t even started the chat this time, but as soon as he’d had time to reply and asked for how they were doing he was only met by silence. It was a week ago now. A week and only one of them had even opened the chat and read what he said. But no reply. Just as it had been the last time too. And the time before that.

He guessed that they simply forgot, but it still hurt. Hurt that he wasn’t important enough to be remembered, that no voice in the back of their mind pointed out that hey, Jean still exists. Maybe we should continue the conversation we started.

After staring at their grinning faces in a photo posted an hour ago, captioned ‘Inspirational weekend in the Old Town before uni starts’, Jean closed the app more forcefully than necessary and threw the phone back into the grass. He wasn’t sure what stung more; another reminder of what they had formed together without him, or that Hitch would be starting her second year in less than a month.

Or perhaps the shame of how jealous he was and the knowledge that they had every right to be tired of his bitter company.

He looked at the facing pages of the sketchbook lying open in his lap. He had been wrong; the kids were awful. Completely ruined the rest of the drawings. But what did it matter anyway? What did it matter that he drew pretty houses and saw their in- and outsides clear in his mind and wanted nothing more than a chance to make them real? He hadn’t gotten in. Four tries and no luck. And then the system changed, and his grades were no longer enough. It wasn’t going to happen.

Angry and with prickling eyes, Jean threw the book away too. He let his head fall back against the trunk of the tree, staring up at the branches and crown of leaves spreading out above him. It wasn’t fair, but it didn’t exactly improve anything that he kept being pathetic about it. Why was it so hard to be positive? How did  _Marco_  do it?

Marco was probably living his dream, though. He seemed like the kind of guy who succeeded with what he wanted, and deserved to do so.

Jean’s eyes wandered aimlessly until they focused on a figure standing a few paces away, watching him with a curious grin. When she saw that he had noticed her, she waved and walked closer.

‘Hey, grumpy,’ Sasha greeted, stopping beside the sketchbook. ‘You’re waiting for your shift to start? Must be hell working outside in this heat.’

‘Yeah, no I’m free today,’ Jean said without thinking, only to realise that now Marco as good as knew that he had lied. Fucking perfect.

Sasha raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Really? Because I just met Marco an hour ago…’ She paused when she saw Jean’s pained expression and laughed. ‘Right. You didn’t wanna hang out with the newly engaged, huh? I get you. Ymir can be a bit much but she’s cool, honestly. I think you two will have fun if you get to know her. And Christa is super sweet. Much more so than her aunt.’

The pieces clicked together and Jean pointed at Sasha with his finger. ‘The Reiss lady,’ he said and Sasha’s grimace deepened. ‘I knew I recognised her.’

‘Ooh yes, our  _lovely_ Amelia. Spreading her positivity and universal knowledge wherever she goes.’

Jean cracked a smile at that. It was somehow relieving to hear he wasn’t the only one who had trouble liking that woman. He’d gotten some vague mutters out of Marco too, but kind sunshine as he was he didn’t seem to want to talk badly about anyone. Sasha on the other hand didn’t hesitate at all.

‘I can’t even imagine how it must be working for her,’ she went on, sticking her tongue out in disgust. ‘If Marco heard me now he’d scold me but like… even Christa agrees she’s bad.’

‘Well, she doesn’t have that much contact with us individually. The project leaders have their meetings with her and sometimes she walks around to inspect half-done things and judges them as if someone has claimed they’re done. But other than that I don’t see her much.  _Luckily_ ,’ he added with a meaning raise of his brows, and Sasha snorted.

They were quiet for a while, but it wasn’t awkward. Which was strange because Jean couldn’t remember a single time they’d talked only the two of them before. And he usually felt pretty weird about talking with people he didn’t know. Not necessarily shy but… there was some kind of block. Sasha had slipped past it without even trying.

She looked away along the street with her hand up to shade her eyes from the sun. She wore a blue sundress with small white flowers on, and Jean had to admit it seemed far nicer than his jeans. His legs were crying in their tight prison, and he held many regrets concerning his wardrobe. Not that he’d let Marco know that.

‘You’ve been around in this part of town before?’ Sasha asked finally, peering back down at Jean. ‘I can show you around if you want.’

The idea was tempting, but Jean hadn’t forgotten the blistering sun. ‘I think I’ll burn up if I leave the shadows,’ he admitted.

Sasha sniggered. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where I live. It’s not far from here. I have sunscreen too so you can get some of that. Those shoulders don’t look very good.’

It was a basement -room in a house similar to Marco’s, long but narrow and with only one window in the other end of it. Like in the attic, all parts of the day had to fit together in it, though it did at least have a small extra room for the kitchenette. It wasn’t much more advanced than Jean’s though, and when Sasha showed him around she wept dramatically over how tiny it was. ‘I like living here because it’s close to Sina’s and friends, but I’m craving a real kitchen,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It’s hard to work on becoming a chef when this is all I’ve got.’

Jean gave her a curious look. ‘You want to be professional?’

‘Oh yeah,’ Sasha nodded. ‘There’s this school I want to get into. You apply with a sort of competition-like audition. I tried it last year just to check it out, but I wasn’t good enough yet.’ She didn’t seem too heartbroken about admitting that. Her eyes actually gleamed. ‘But I’m working on it! I cook at my parents’ sometimes, and then there’s Marco’s kitchen of course.’ She gave Jean a glass of water before opening the cupboard and rummaged through it. ‘You hungry?’

Jean shook his head with the glass to his lips. ‘No, I’m good. Thanks.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Holding the left-overs she had found, Sasha crashed down on the couch beneath the loft bed and patted her hand on the seat beside hers. Jean did as she asked and then let his eyes wander around. Opposite them stood a TV surrounded by stacks of movies, games and books in a chaotic order, and beside it was a wardrobe with a piece of cloth sticking out through the chink of the doors. Because of the lack of space, there weren’t much more than that and the small table over by the kitchenette door. But instead she had lots of plants; leaves and flowers climbed up along the furniture and walls, twining around each other. The cosy atmosphere reminded Jean of his mum’s apartment back in Trost. Nice and calm. It felt like home.

They didn’t talk much while Sasha ate, but once the last bit was swallowed she peered at Jean up and down. ‘You want to borrow shorts or a skirt or something?’ she asked. ‘It’s a lot nicer to wear than those jeans you’ve rolled up.’

Jean snorted out a short laugh. ‘I’m not gonna wear your clothes,’ he retorted when she jumped up and hurried towards her wardrobe.

‘Aw come on. You’d rather melt into the asphalt?’ She held up a flowery green dress for him. ‘Just try it on.’ 

Jean had no idea how he ended up in this situation. Before this morning he’d barely talked to the woman, and now Sasha was building a heap of clothes that she thought he would look good in but that he shook his head at more often than not. It was a wide mix of garments; dresses, shorts, skirts all in varying length. At one point she held up a pair of knee-long swimming trunks too. Jean wondered how all of it could fit in her small wardrobe.

‘Come on, Jean!’ Sasha groaned after a while, hands on her hips. ‘What’s your problem?’

‘I told you,’ Jean repeated, ‘ _I’m not gonna wear your clothes_.’

‘And why is that? You think I have bad taste?’

‘No, I’m sure you look great in these, but they’re not…’ He made a vague gesture to himself. ‘… _me_.’

Sasha rolled her eyes. ‘What, you want something without flowers? Black?’ She turned back towards the now almost empty wardrobe. ‘I’ve got this one. It matches your top.’ She threw the skirt at him before he could protest, but after holding it up and seeing how short it was he shook his head again.

‘Don’t you have anything longer?’ he complained, and Sasha raised her arms in frustration, gesturing towards all the clothes he had already said no to.

In the end she gave him a pair of baggy shorts that he would never have bought for himself, then added a belt because her hips were wider than his. ‘There’s some paint splatter on them but you’re artistic so it shouldn’t clash with your style too much.’

Jean shot her a stare, wondering how she’d come to that conclusion. But then he remembered the sketchbook had been lying open in the grass for her to see when she arrived.

Muttering to himself, he found a small space of privacy behind the kitchenette door to change. It wasn’t as much giving up the argument as it was an excuse to get free from the heat for a while. The shorts were soft and airy, and  _wearing_  them was quiet nice, actually, even though he didn’t find their appearance very pleasing. At least on him. But they reached down past his knees, and although they were a little too big around the waist even with the belt, today they were more comfortable than the jeans. He had to admit that the thought of putting  _those_  back on again was about as tempting as diving into a volcano. With that in perspective, it wasn’t much of a choice.

‘Ohhhh nice,’ Sasha said when she peeked around the door. ‘Looking good.’

Jean gave her an unamused glance but purposely muttered his response too low for her to hear. He had no intention to let her in on any self-esteem issues; their new friendship or whatever this was had already rushed out of his control too fast.

But when Sasha’s suspicious squint at his reaction turned into a smug smile, he realised he didn’t mind it so much. ‘No need to thank me,’ she said and turned back towards her clothes. ‘Now you might actually get a bit of a tan too so you can stop complaining about your legs being too pale.’

‘I doubt that. My skin would rather burn off my flesh than look good.’

Sasha snorted and folded her clothes messily before pressing them back into the wardrobe. ‘You have to use the right sunscreen. Not just that cheap shit you get because you’re greedy and want to keep your money.’

Jean scowled at her. ‘You don’t even know what sunscreen I use.’

‘I can see your shoulders and they’ve got the beginning of a nasty burn.’ She pointed at him with a meaning look. Jean huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Trust me on this; my older sister is a boss on skin care spells. I’ve learned from the best.’

When they finally returned to the front door, Jean’s earlier burning shoulders were cool, and the sample packets of lotion lay with his jeans in the canvas bag Sasha had borrowed him.

‘Unfortunately I don’t think I have any shoes your size so you’ll have to do with what you got,’ Sasha said with a glance at her different shoes. Jean didn’t mind that though; they weren’t exactly his style either.

They returned out to the blistering heat, sun standing high in the blue cloudless sky. Sasha led the way, soon taking them past both a garage sale on one side and a garden party on the other. Jean spotted some kids flying a kite in the distance, the long tail fluttering behind. He assumed it had to be enchanted, because there was still no wind to speak of.

Sasha stopped by a lemonade booth, declaring that they were in great need of some refreshing drinks. Jean had no intention to disagree with her; it already seemed like ages since he’d drunk glass upon glass of water in her rooms. The pig-tailed girl looked up at them with a wide grin showing her tooth gap, and poured them two big glasses from the pitcher. Sasha gave her some extra money and told her to go buy an ice cream from the shop close by.

‘That’s my sister,’ she said as the girl hurried away with happy leaps in her steps.

‘The skin care one?’ Jean asked with a smirk.

Sasha rolled her eyes. ‘Oh yeah. She works extra in a lemonade booth. And also, she’s 11. Gosh, kids these days climb the career ladder so fast.’

They were still sniggering when Sasha’s sister returned and thanked them for standing guard. Sasha also received a hug in thanks, before the girl’s full focus zeroed in on the dessert. Jean recognised her expression as very much alike Sasha’s, and when he pointed it out Sasha didn’t even try to look offended. ‘What can I say,’ she said with a hand-wave. ‘My family has our priorities straight.’

After another while of strolling, they found a bench in good view of a busy canal and sat down; Jean on the seat and Sasha on the table with her feet resting beside him.

‘Soooo,’ she said after a while, and Jean could sense her stare boring into his side. ‘Why do you never show up on our group activities?’

Jean scratched the pavement with his foot, considering what to say. Marco had invited him several times and didn’t show any sign of stopping despite that Jean always said no. And it was genuine, not just politeness. So he knew he was welcome, but…  it didn’t feel right. He sighed and glanced at Sasha’s expectant face. ‘I don’t know. I’m not a group activity person, I guess.’

‘Hm.’ Sasha slurped her lemonade with a thoughtful expression as she scanned the bustle on the waterway before them. ‘We aren’t that many though. Usually me and Marco and Mikasa, sometimes Eren if he wants too. Armin is only here during the summers when he’s away from school so he too of course but his family’s got a lot of stuff going on so he’s often busy.’

‘You’re all close, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ Sasha smiled brightly. ‘Marco’s like my brother. We all grew up together.’

Jean nodded, eyes back on his shoe scratching at the ground. Sasha was watching him again, he could tell, but she didn’t say anything. She did expect him to, though. ‘Well I’m not a group person and I wouldn’t fit in with you guys anyway so…’

‘Aw come one, don’t be like that!’ Sasha bumped his arm with her knee, rougher than necessary, and almost spilled some of the drink into her lap. She quickly licked up the escaping droplets dripping down her hand. ‘Seriously, Jean, you have nothing to worry about. And I can guarantee you that Marco would be by your side the entire time so you wouldn’t be left in any awkward silences or something. We’ve got your back.’ She leaned closer to patted his shoulder blade for emphasise.

Jean gave her a crooked smile. ‘You don’t have to babysit me. I’m able to look after myself.’

‘Oh sure, I didn’t mean like that,’ Sasha replied. ‘Just meant that we’ve learned to be attentive and notice if someone isn’t feeling alright, despite what they say.’

Jean turned and gave her a questioning frown, but she was once again looking at the canoes sliding down the canal while she slurped even louder through the straw.

It was nice hanging out with Sasha, he had to admit. Even a little disappointing when she had to leave for an evening shift in the coffee shop. Alone again, Jean found another big tree with a shadow to sit in; it was probably nicer inside a house, but the attic with its broken fan didn’t call for him at all. The bookshop wasn’t an alternative either; even though Marco wasn’t there and was likely to find out in either case, Jean felt bad about even considering it. So no. He stayed under the tree while the warmth became more bearable as evening approached.

Marco still found him, though. One moment Jean was alone and the next Marco sat down beside him, jerking him out of his thoughts with a start.

‘Hey,’ Marco said with a soft smile. ‘You had a good day?’

Jean wasn’t sure what to answer on that. He hated lying and had regretted it almost right away, but sometimes his defences put up walls even around his honesty. The words he tried to form tasted bad on his tongue.

But Marco already knew. ‘I’ve had a nice time, but I get it that you didn’t want to come.’ His eyes moved over Jean’s clothes. ‘Is this Sasha’s?’

Jean nodded, but then raised an eyebrow at him. ‘How do you know that? It could be anyone’s. It could be  _mine_.’

‘You refused to buy anything three days ago so I’m actually surprised to see you wearing this at all.’ Marco poked at the paint stains. ‘But I recognised these. It’s from when we helped Ymir paint a room in the apartment.’ He peered up at Jean’s face. ‘A lot nicer than those jeans, huh?’

Jean rolled his eyes with a huff and Marco chuckled lightly. Then Jean gave him a searching look. ‘Sasha told you?’

‘Hm? No. I guessed it on my own. Kinda sensed how uncomfortable you were. I’m sorry about that.’

‘It’s not your fault. I’m the one who should say sorry. So, sorry.’ Jean glanced at Marco, finding him still smiling. ‘You’re not even mad?’ he had to ask. ‘That I lied?’

Marco shrugged. ‘Sometimes it’s hard to be honest about certain things,’ he said, eyes as soft as the rest of his expression. ‘I understand you didn’t want to tell them. But,’ he added, tilting his head and catching Jean’s eyes. ‘I hope you’ll be comfortable enough with me to tell me how it is rather than make excuses. In general, you know? It’s okay to want to be alone sometimes or not wanting to spend time with a specific person.  Just tell me.’

Jean nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, but Marco brushed it away.

‘I’m going to eat dinner with my family now, since Ymir’s home. You’re free to come if you want…’

Jean shook his head. ‘Thanks, but… no.’

Marco’s smile quirked a little to the side. ‘I guessed so but I wanted to ask.’ He got up on his feet again and brushed the grass from his backside. ‘Do you want to hang out later? It will still be warm enough for that bath.’

‘You have this thing for showing me things in the middle of the night, eh?’ Jean grinned at him.

‘Nights are nice. And it’s a long time since I last bathed in the dark, so…?’ He gave Jean an expectant look, awaiting his answer.

It wasn’t like Jean had to think it over. He smiled. ‘Of course.’

*

The water of the lake glimmered in the moonlight, small bobbing waves rolling over the surface with the wind. It was a secluded place just as Marco had said; swaying tree branches framing it along the banks, and the road leading here only accessible by foot or bike.

‘There are bathing jetties spread all around the lake,’ Marco said as he led the way on the path down towards the water from where they’d left the bike. ‘A lot of people come here during the days but it’s not as crowded as a beach. Guess sand is nicer than rocks though.’ He looked back at Jean with a crooked smile.

Jean made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘Sand only gets into every fold of your clothes and itches like you’re cursed.’

‘Mm. True. But rocks are sharp to walk on with bare feet,’ Marco retorted. He stopped by the foot of jetty, waiting for Jean to catch up the small distance between them.

‘Yeah but that’s why we have this.’ Jean poked with his shoe on the wood before them, and Marco’s smile widened.

‘Guess this will be alright for you then,’ he said, eyes wandering over the plants and bushes growing beside them. He hoisted his backpack up on both shoulders and hunched down, searching for something between the leaves.

Jean frowned at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Why wouldn’t it be?’

Marco inspected the berries in his hand, only shrugging in response before offering some to Jean. He was silent, but didn’t seem bothered. His focus was on the berries, gleaming eyes revealing his excitement about these small wild sweets.

Jean took a few from Marco’s red-stained fingers, brows furrowed in thought about what Marco had implied. He guessed it was true that so far he’d mostly complained about things and kept the positive thoughts to himself. Maybe not the best idea.

‘I like it here, you know,’ he said and Marco looked up with an open and expectant expression. ‘In Jinae, I mean. I didn’t at first but... it changed.’

 _Thanks to you_ , he didn’t say. But something in Marco’s soft smile told him that the silent message had been received nonetheless.

While enjoying the ripe berries, they walked out on the jetty, the wooden planks rough beneath their bare feet. When they reached the roof of the T-shape, Marco pulled the shirt over his head in no time, leaving on only the swim trunks he had worn from home. Jean stopped in his own tracks looking at him, a mix of admiration and self-consciousness twisting inside. Where Jean himself was thin and bony, Marco was broad with gentle edges stretching over both muscle and softness. Of course Jean had been able to tell that before too, but without the shirt it became all the more apparent. Marco was nice to look at, and Jean tried not to stare.

‘Wow you have a lot of freckles, huh,’ he observed, hoping that Marco didn’t notice how he was being watched.

‘Yeah, extra much in summer, you know. With all the sun and beach hours.’ Marco grinned and settled down on the edge, lowering his feet and legs into the water with no sign of hesitation. ‘Except there are no beaches here. But this isn’t really beach body material anyway,’ he added with a chuckle and patted the soft rolls of his tummy. ‘And Sasha isn’t exactly helping. Not that I’m complaining, of course.’

Jean tore his eyes from Marco and focused on getting his own clothes over his head instead. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he muttered into his shirt. ‘You’d look great on a beach.’

Marco chuckled again, the water moving in ripples around his feet. ‘Thank you.’

Jean didn’t meet his eyes, but he felt that beaming smile anyway, like the warmth cast by the sun. Just the thought of it made his ears burn, and he prayed it was too dark for Marco to see.

This was so stupid. Making things awkward between them was the last thing he wanted, and getting flustered was a certain one way ticket to that destination. Yet here he was with heated cheeks – and not for the first time either. Silently cursing all the good-looking people in the world, Jean left his clothes in a messy pile by their shoes and sat down, arms hugging his knees to his chest.

By now Marco was on his back on the wood, eyes closed and a soft smile gracing his lips. Jean glanced at him again, but didn’t allow himself to linger too long this time. Instead he dipped his fingers in the water, finding that it had been warmed pleasantly by the summer heat. With a long sigh of _finally_ he swung his legs over the edge and into it with a splash. Marco cracked open an eye and lifted his head a fraction from the planks, giving Jean an amused look.

‘Nice, huh?’

‘Yeah. Bet it would’ve been like paradise earlier today.’

Marco sighed. ‘I’m sorry I left you.’

Jean turned to the side to see his face better. ‘No it’s fine. I didn’t mean it like that. We can go here earlier some other time.’

They exchanged a smile, and then Marco stretched out with a huff, reaching for the backpack behind them. Jean sat in silence while Marco took out two plastic cups and a half-empty bottle of what looked like wine. ‘This doesn’t taste very good,’ Marco said and held out the bottle for Jean to take. ‘But it’s getting old so if you want to share my suffering in drinking it up, you’re more than welcome to.’

‘Or else what? Watching you get drunk on your own?’ Jean sniggered. ‘Can’t decide what sounds more fun.’

Marco shoved him gently with his shoulder. ‘It’s not enough to get drunk on.’

‘Maybe not if we share it.’ Jean took one of the cups from him with a smirk and set to pour himself a glass of the red liquor. ‘But mixed with tiredness it might as well be.’

‘I think tiredness would have the most effect in this case,’ Marco chuckled and put his own cup down beside Jean’s between them, gesturing for it to be filled as well. ‘And anyway, getting drunk and swimming isn’t the best idea.’

‘Oh I’m not going to bathe so it’s cool.’ When Marco raised an eyebrow in question at that, Jean made a pointed gesture at the small waves. ‘The water is so dark I can barely see my feet now. There might be a lake monster waiting right below us and we wouldn’t know until it swallowed us whole! Or bit us in half...’

Marco sniggered. ‘Trust me, Jean, there’s no monster in this lake. Just fish. And maybe snakes.’ Jean instantly pulled up his feet on the jetty again, earning an amused head-shake from Marco as he turned back towards the open backpack. ‘Anyway, dad was baking when we got home earlier so I brought some with me.’

Jean squinted at the surface again, but couldn’t see anything moving underneath it except for Marco’s feet. ‘More sugar, huh,’ he said, decided to ignore Marco’s comment and instead sent him a crooked grin. ‘Should have expected that from you.’

‘Hey,’ Marco chuckled as he fished up the box from the bag. He opened and placed it between them. ‘I like my food sweet, alright.’

‘You’re like a child. Do you have those gross kid toothpastes too?’

‘Ew, no!’ Marco grimaced, mouth stuffed with the first cinnamon bun and a warm laugh vibrating in his chest. ‘Those are disgusting. I said _food_. Since when do you eat toothpaste?’

There was a peaceful feeling hanging over the humid night. Their laughter echoed in the silence, to the distant background rush of a waterfall somewhere deeper into the woods. The sky was cloudy so no more than a few stars were visible, but the moon was perfect and cast its light on the dark water, shimmering mysteriously over the surface.

With nothing but his head above it, Marco said that during daylight the water was so clear you could see the bottom of the lake from where they were now. He also insisted there wasn’t anything for Jean to be worried about lurking in the depths, and splashed up a wave over Jean to wash the suspicious scowl from his face. Spluttering and cursing with Marco laughing below him, Jean kicked his feet back in the water in revenge. Marco escaped by disappearing below the surface, but with his hair already dripping Jean couldn’t really do much harm anyway. He glared at Marco’s mischievous face when it reappeared. He had refused to join Marco in the water, but when he finally broke his own promise he didn’t even think about that he’d let Marco win.

They stayed within reach of the jetty, fingers holding the metal rings for support while their bodies floated free on the bobbing surface. Jean had expected it to get cold after a while, but it was actually nice. Relaxing. All thoughts of water creatures for a moment pushed out from his mind... at least until Marco’s foot moved a little bit too close to his ankle.

Sometime around two or three in the morning, they started their unsteady bike ride back into town. They took turns to see which one of them was the steadiest to steer, but it didn’t go very well for either of them; between two neighbourhoods they fell into a ditch. It wasn’t a hard fall, though. The bike just tipped over and they slid off, cackling at nothing and everything and all things in between.

Jean didn’t remember the last time he felt _so good_ in someone’s company. Or at all, for that matter. It wasn’t like his alone-time had anything even remotely close to this. It was a bubbly kind of laughter that lived in his belly, and almost brought tears to his eyes. But Marco was the one with tracks down his cheeks, wheezing through his nose as he tried to calm down only to burst into another guffaw five seconds later. And Jean couldn’t help but laugh with him.

‘Hey, hey,’ Jean managed to get out finally, nudging Marco’s shaking shoulder. He placed his phone above them, positioning it so the mirrored image of them was visible within the screen’s camera frame. Marco moved closer without argument, pressing the side of their faces together with an ugly grimace. The next one was worse than the previous, and so he went on while Jean tried to match him and not laugh at every change. Triple chins, tongue poking out in every direction, wide staring eyes and flaring nostrils.

And laughter. Dimples in his cheeks among the freckles. Skin wrinkling around his eyes and new tears pooling in the corners. Smile so bright and pretty Jean found himself staring at it on the screen.

‘Are you going to post them somewhere?’ Marco asked when he had stopped giggling, and watched Jean as he scrolled through the silly pictures.

‘Dunno. Maybe. If you’re okay with that?’

‘Sure! Just tag me.’ They exchanged another grin, before Marco turned his eyes away. But it didn’t take long before he exclaimed a short, ‘Oh, look!’

He pointed upwards and Jean put his phone to rest against his chest as he followed Marco’s finger towards the sky. It was dark for a short while more before the sun would rise again, and the clouds had cleared. Now he could see the faint gleam of stars far above, and it stretched his already wide smile even wider.

‘It’s not much yet but in a month or so it’ll be really clear,’ Marco murmured from beside him.

‘The night sky isn’t visible in Trost,’ Jean said, voice low and eyes searching dim constellations he only knew by faint memory. ‘Too many city lights.’

Marco’s smile was warm in his voice. ‘Well then just you wait for winter. You’re gonna like that, I think.’

They stayed there for a while longer before they stumbled to their feet, pushing the bike back up on the road and tried again. This time they got home without further accidents, still laughing as they said goodnight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update time, _finally_!  
>  It took extra time for this chapter because I spent all of November writing NaNo (which means I now have 50k more words of APoM waiting to be filled with missing pieces and edited before I can post them too; it'll take time, but I'm very excited!). It's a bit longer than the previous chapters too, which seems fitting considering the longer wait :')
> 
> My original goal was to post five chapters this year, and I still really want to get chapter 5 out this month as well (because Christmas). But first of all I must focus on my assignment for the JM Gift Exchange :D. Also, I'll be away from my laptop between Christmas and New Years, so if next chapter isn't posted before then it'll have to wait a bit longer. So we'll see!
> 
> In either case, as always any feedback is greatly appreciated and I hope you'll enjoy the read!
> 
> My [tumblr](http://emelianss.tumblr.com) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/emelianss).

September came with quick changes of the weather, rain and sun fighting for control that neither kept for very long. And even when the sky was bright blue, an autumn chill laced the breezes playing with the fallen leaves, bringing with them the message that summer had come to an end. Their lazy afternoons spent outside were exchanged for the couch and TV in Marco’s apartment, while the downpour smattered against the windows. They sat with a comfortable space between them, usually taken up by a purring Lady Tiny Paws snuggling with her head pressed into Jean’s thigh.

The first time Jean came inside, Lady had wasted no time introducing herself to him. Marco disappeared into the kitchen while Jean attempted to take off his shoes, but the meowing cat rubbing against his leg made that a lot trickier than it should be. Especially since his instant reaction was to hunch down and pet her.

‘If you don’t ignore her soon she will never let you go,’ Marco pointed out when he came back and found Jean still on the doormat with the cat spread out like a fluffy, purring sausage by his feet.

Jean glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow. ‘That sounds like the opposite of a problem,’ he said, and rubbed Lady’s white belly. Lady meowed in agreement and gave his other hand a loving lick.

After that she tended to follow Jean around when he visited and as soon as he sat down she was on his lap, snuggling into his chest. Marco called her a traitor, but she blatantly ignored him. At least until Jean left and she wanted more cuddles.

But right now her focus was elsewhere; standing between them she flashed her butt in Jean’s face while inspecting all the papers Marco had scattered over his lap and table.

Jean tilted his head and waved her tail out of his eyes to see where he was driving in the race playing out on the TV. But when Lady stepped on Marco’s work and he gently pushed her away, she turned back to Jean and climbed up on his chest, blocking his view with a content smile. Jean craned his neck just in time to see his vehicle tumble into the abyss of space; with a frustrated sigh he let his head fall back against the couch and let go of the controller. He might be annoyed at her, but that didn’t stop him from petting her head.

Marco hadn’t noticed Jean’s misfortune; his focus was set on the paperwork, front teeth chewing on his lower lip in thought. Jean watched him with a frown. It wasn’t exactly unusual that Marco was doing something else too while they had a movie on or Jean played the games Ymir had temporarily left here. Sure, he paid attention to what happened in the story, but his focus wandered back and forth to whatever stuff he had to get done as well. Even when it was clear that he had forgotten the task, completely mesmerised by a scene or their conversations, his hands _had_ to hold something. Like it somehow made him subconsciously believe he was being productive.

It wasn’t a problem, really. But Jean would much rather compete against Marco than the game itself, with all the cursing and laughing that would be sure to come with it. Marco never played, though. He claimed that he was no good anyway, and that it’d be more fun for Jean to play without him, but even now Jean had his doubts. Not sure about what exactly, but it was something about all of this that rubbed him the wrong way. ‘You have all these games right before you and I’m supposed to accept that you don’t play,’ he said, not for the first time.

Marco smiled. He didn’t take his eyes from what he was scribbling. ‘I told you; I don’t have time.’

‘Then you _make_ time. Just throw this stuff to the side for a while. What even is this?’ Jean took up a random paper and squinted at it. ‘What are you doing with Sasha’s wish list?’

Marco took the paper back. ‘It’s not Sasha’s; it’s for the October Fair. A list of those who’ve announced interest in bringing and selling food. I’m trying to decide good placement for all of them.’ He did a gesture to the largest paper, which Jean now realised was a map over the tables that’d fit on the market square.

He gaped at Marco with furrowed brows. ‘Why are _you_ doing that?’

‘I volunteered.’

Of bloody course. ‘Yeah, but I mean…’ He gestured with his hand to find the right words. ‘Why not old grannies who no longer have a job?’

‘I like doing this stuff. You like playing video games and I—’

‘Like to work?’

‘I like being involved.’

‘And I thought Sasha was kidding when she said how much you did for the Midsummer Feast.’

Marco hummed but said nothing. He was looking at the papers again.

‘Tell me you’re at least getting paid for it.’

‘Volunteer work is usually made for free,’ Marco pointed out, giving Jean a hard look. ‘Not everything’s about money, Jean.’

Silence fell, only broken off by the cheery game theme playing on repeat on the menu screen. Marco’s focus was back on the arrangements, and if he noticed Jean watching him he didn’t show it. Sighing to himself, Jean moved the wire of the controller from under Lady’s paws and started a new game.

*

If it was something Jean would remember of his time in this town, it was the absolutely shameless way they celebrated the tiniest things. And the holidays were even worse.

They were big in Trost too, of course. But there it was more for advertising. Stores painted up what wares to buy to get the perfect holiday feel. It was shallow, like a show-off competition. Here in Jinae, the town itself was celebrating. It was genuine. The way Jean only before had seen in postcards and romanticised movies. He had been sceptical on Midsummer and stayed away from most of the spectacle the best he could. But now his growing connection to Marco made things harder to avoid. However, absorbed by Marco’s enthusiasm and care to show parts of his life that he loved, Jean had to admit he didn’t really wish to miss out on anything this time.

The October Fair was an annual festival celebrating the harvest, and it was tradition to share with others all that nature had given during the summer. Every weekend was a market held, for farmers from the countryside to sell their products, as well as anyone in town who wanted to do the same. There were food and drinks and sweets aplenty, and Marco’s eyes gleamed from excitement when he told Jean about the coming weeks.

It started already in September, by the autumn equinox. That’s when many people began preparations and preservation of fruit and vegetables – at least according to Marco and his family’s traditions. Both his aunt and parents had big apple trees and with them many, many apples to use. The aunt grew even more in her garden; herbs and fruit and vegetables, all to be prepared for winter as soon as possible. It was a lot of work, but they made it a family activity, an opportunity for quality time together. So even though the day might be hectic, they still always enjoyed it.

Marco invited Jean to come spend it with them, so eager to go he didn’t seem to consider that Jean might say no. Jean was a bit reluctant at first, feeling like an intruder in family matters. But it did make him somewhat less tense when Marco told him that Sasha and her family would come too. It was inclusive, and no one would question him being there.

It turned out that Marco was right; his parents were smiley and welcoming, not once sending out any disliking signals. They lived in a house big enough for the family it had held before the children moved out, but way smaller than the fancy ones on the street where Jean worked. Upon arriving, Marco showed Jean around; the ground floor had the kitchen, hall and living room, as well as the parents’ bedroom and a big bathroom. On the smaller first floor, Marco’s and Ymir’s rooms still stood with their childhood things for when they visited. There were also a small bathroom squeezed between them, and a corner with a couch and table that was used a lot more when they still lived here.

‘We used to build blanket forts and castles there,’ Marco said with a chuckle. ‘Or draw a strict line in the middle marking what parts belonged to who. That was mostly Ymir’s doing; couldn’t have her annoying little brother disturbing her when she had girlfriends over. Mum wasn’t very happy when Ymir had drawn it with what appeared to be a permanent marker. It did go off after a few weeks, though.’

Inside Marco’s room, Jean searched for traces of the boy who used to live in here. He tried to imagine the teenaged Marco from the pictures he’d already passed in the hallway, seated by the desk or slacking on his bed while listening to music or reading instead of doing homework, one long leg resting on the mattress and the other hanging down along the side with the foot tapping the rhythm of the melody on the floor. Jean realised he didn’t know much about who Marco was during those years. Marco had shared a lot of childhood stories, but there was a wide gap between then and now in the chronology. Judging by the person Jean knew, Marco was probably orderly with top grades and never any trouble for his parents. But what if he’d had a period opposite of that? The embarrassing, rebellious phase he tried to pretend never happened. Jean smirked to himself at the thought; he would have to ask about it some day.

‘It was never as tidy as this when I actually lived in here,’ Marco remarked with a short laugh. ‘This whole floor was a mess.’

Jean sent him a crooked grin in response; it was relatable. Except he and his sister Jessica hadn’t had a whole own floor to themselves. Just separate rooms in each end of the apartment.

Jean peered at the books and photos on the bookshelf, searching for clues while Marco swung around slowly on the desk chair. He didn’t seem to mind Jean snooping, so Jean kept looking around until he finally crashed down on the bed with the superman blankets. He stroked his hand over the symbol with a chuckle, then let his eyes slide over the walls. There weren’t many posters up, in comparison to the glimpse Jean had gotten of Ymir’s room when they passed it. And back home Jean had hidden every inch of wallpaper with band posters and shirts at one point, though by now there weren’t as much left. He’d been forced to take them down when his mum insisted on repainting the walls.

Jean’s gaze fell on the wall up by Marco’s pillow, in good eyesight for him when lying on his side with the back to the room. The wallpaper was a little worn, as if notes or photos had been sitting there for a long time before they were torn away, taking bits of the paper with it. Jean leaned closer, squinting as he ran his hand over the place. When he looked back at Marco he found that he’d stopped spinning and was watching Jean with a thoughtful expression.

Then Marco smiled, and smacking his hands down on his thighs he rose from the chair and walked over to the door. ‘Now it’s time for us to help with all the work,’ he said with a wink at Jean’s groan.

Jean wasn’t really annoyed though. He was actually excited to be part of this. He got pulled into the activities as any other, was assigned a task and spot in the noisy and chatty kitchen, and greeted by the members of the two families without any curious questions.

At first he wondered if it was because they assumed he was _with_ Marco in more ways than one. The thought caused conflicting feelings to swirl around in his stomach; on one hand it was nice and natural in the way he hoped to have for real one day. However, on the other, he didn’t want to see Marco that way, at all. The idea that others might think he did made him uneasy and somewhat self-defensive. But then aunt Rosie found him and clasped his hands with a calm, happy aura radiating from her as she expressed how fun it always was to meet Marco’s friends. It kicked that nagging thought out of his mind.

‘Dear, do you know what to do with these?’ she asked, gazing down at the apples Jean had been set to chop in preparation for pies and cider.

‘Oh uh… sort of?’ He stared down at his handiwork, wondering if she asked because she had noticed him doing something wrong. Did they have to be cut in a special way or something? ‘Marco’s supposed to be here too, but he disappeared a while ago…’

‘I believe he let Lady out in the yard. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.’ She gave Jean a warm smile and spread out the things she’d carried with her on the table opposite from him. Jean looked at the empty jars and bag of wicks; he had seen his mum make enough candles to know what they were for. Rosie didn’t say anything more about the apples, but left to take the melting wax from the stove.

Sasha and her mum were stood there too, in control of pots simmering and bubbling with the food they’d eat for dinner later the same day. She winked and smiled at Jean from time to time, but mostly her focus was directed at the work at hand. Her speed and lack of hesitation before each new step made it clear she knew what she was doing, and it was fascinating to see her in her right environment. She looked professional.

There wasn’t much time to talk with Marco’s parents properly, but by watching them move around the gathered people Jean was able to get some insight in their personalities anyway. Marco’s dad, Victor Bodt, was a lanky man with a small, bulging belly. His thick dark hair was sprinkled grey around the ears and curls poked up in random directions. It made a comical picture with his confused expression as he scratches his chin trying to remember what he had come into the kitchen to do. He didn’t say much or at least didn’t talk loudly. But he wore a soft smile when he peered at Jean over the glasses resting on his nose, and his brown skin wrinkled in laughter lines around his kind, dark eyes.

Erika Bodt on the other hand was energetic and loud, her strong voice mixing with the deep laughter of mr Blouse who was seated by the other end of the table. She was short – Marco’d had to bend down when she gave his cheek a smooch in welcome earlier – but she found ways to reach where she needed, either by climbing chairs as fast as she sped around on the floor, or by calling for someone else to do it for her. The freckles came from her, Jean noted, as did Marco’s way with people. She talked and joked with everyone, even when she was in a hurry to go to another room. More than once she promised Jean to invite him to a calmer dinner, so they could get to know each other better than in this chaotic order. At first Jean got nervous at the thought, but as the day proceeded he found that he looked forward to it.

Marco’s grandma was sitting in a corner, wrinkly and smiley with soft, dark grey hair. She was silent like her son, observing more than she said. One of Sasha’s younger sisters (the one closest to her in age, Jean thought he remembered Marco saying at some point) sat perched on a chair beside the old lady, swirling strands of dark hair around her fingers and lips moving constantly around words lost on their way through the kitchen bustle towards Jean’s end. He wasn’t sure if he would have understood them anyway, depending on how much of it was in Spanish, but at least Grandma Bodt enjoyed it.

Marco came in a few minutes later, smiling and with rosy cheeks from the chill outside. He handed Jean the colourful scarf he’d lent him earlier and gestured for him to come. ‘It’s nice outside, we can do this on the porch instead. Less noise there.’

They took the knives, chopping-boards and bowls and left aunt Rosie to show Sasha’s two youngest sisters how to weave magic into the candles she was making. The girls both watched with wide, curious eyes, and Marco sent Jean a secretive smile.

In the doorway they almost stumbled into Marco’s mum; she clasped her hands to Marco’s upper arms to steady them both, and then looked up at him with a sudden thought striking her. ‘Did you give us a good spot this year?’ she asked. ‘We did the calculations, remember? Placement is very important, the pattern of past winners is too distinct for it to be unconnected–’

Marco rolled his eyes and brushed her hands away. ‘I’m doing the arrangements as an independent third party,’ he said. ‘I can’t give you special treatment just because we’re family.’

‘Oh come on, no one will notice!’

‘ _Mum_.’

‘Fine, be that way.’ She smacked Marco playfully on the arm before letting him go. As she passed Jean she said, ‘Can you believe this boy?’, and continued back to the kitchen, still muttering about how she raised Marco _too_ well.

‘What was that about?’ Jean asked when they sat down on the steps of the porch.

‘There’s pie contests during weekends,’ Marco said with chuckle. ‘Apparently mum and Sasha has made an investigation on what table is the best to have, calculated from how soon people will pick their favourites or stop trying new things and stuff like that. Oh and they claim there’s a pattern in where past years’ winners have stood.’ He waved his hand in dismissal. ‘I don’t know. But mum is very set on winning.’

They cut the apples into pieces and removed the pips before adding them to the bowl standing between them. The sun was shining so it wasn’t really cold, but the autumn air was carrying a chill and Jean decided wearing the scarves was probably for the best. It was soft and cosy too, and Marco dressed in his silly autumn sweater looked extra cute in his with the rosy nose sticking out above it and cheeks flushed with the cold and fun. Not that Jean payed attention to that, of course.

To their left, Lady was rolling around in the already fallen leaves, her tail raised and the tip twitching a little in excitement **.** Jean cracked an amused smile at the sight of her, and exchanged a look with Marco, who then turned his face in her direction. He put down the knife for a moment and pulled out his phone from his jean’s pocket, directing the camera towards her and pressed rec.

‘Hey,’ he cooed. ‘You’re having fun, hm?’

Lady paused a moment, her ears pointing in the direction of every subtle sound, before she moved forward in her small paradise.

‘Lady?’

‘Meeeow.’

‘You’re enjoying the leaves?’

She continued rustling around without answering, too focused on the adventure to care about what Marco was saying. Jean pressed his lips together not to let out any laughter while Marco filmed, but Lady’s delight made it hard. He wheezed through his nose, and Marco sent him a bright smile over his shoulder.

‘What are you finding, Lady?’

The cat stopped again and tilted her curious head as she tried to see if something was hiding below the moving leaves. Her paw shot out to poke at it gently, before she did another leap and landed on top of it, attacking any unfortunate bug crawling by underneath.

After playing around for a while, Marco’s gentle talking caught her interest. She leaped up on the step beside Marco’s feet, rising on her hind legs to try to reach the camera with her nose. She leaned her front paws on Marco’s thigh and meowed again, purring when Marco patted her head and stroked his hand down her back, picking out the leaves that got stuck in there.

‘Leaves like you too, it seems,’ he said, brushing his fingers through the fur to remove the dirt. ‘They wanna come with us home.’

‘Meow.’

Rubbing against Marco, Lady moved around him and padded over to Jean to check out what he was doing. Marco turned to find her again with the camera, and Jean’s instant reaction was to get out of its view; Marco placed a reassuring hand on Jean’s arm, phone safely directed between them to where Lady had sat down. He had no intention to film Jean’s face without his permission, and the warmth in Jean’s chest swelled from thinking of how natural this consideration came to him. Marco’s kindness was genuine, not with the slightest teasing to angle it in secret and catch him off guard. Just that hand staying in place to show what he didn’t need to say.

Lady butted her head into Jean’s elbow, nudging until he moved his arm enough to pet her too. She purred and gave the camera a content smile.

‘You big baby,’ Marco chuckled, and lowered the phone to put it back into his pocket. He gave his cat a loving look before returning his focus to the apples.

They were quiet for a while, working in comfortable silence only interrupted by the slicing of apples, Lady’s purring, and the birds chirping in the trees. It was such a lovely day, and Jean was glad he had agreed to come. Sitting alone in the attic wasn’t much preferred compared to this, even though it smelled delightful from the apples he’d been given from those Marco’s aunt had left at his a few days before.

The door opened behind them and Marco’s mum came outside carrying a tray with cups and a plate with cookies and sweets, the buzz of voices from inside following behind her like a trail. ‘We’re taking a coffee break now, boys,’ she said with a smile and moved over to the table on the porch. She had put on a scarf herself, and the others following behind were also dressed up to enjoy the outside air without being chilly.

Marco put away the stuff and rose to his feet, only taking the knife with him to ensure no unobservant cat stepped on it. Jean was quick to follow, and while they waited for the others to take their seats, he nudged Marco’s arm a little.

‘Hm?’ Marco sounded, tearing his eyes from the chatting friends and family and instead directing them at Jean with a raised brow in question.

Jean waited until Sasha’s sisters had passed them and then mumbled, ‘Thank you for inviting me to this.’

Marco’s expression softened into a warm smile. ‘Of course.’

*

Somehow on the night between 30th September and 1st October the atmosphere shifted; any lingering traces of summer were gone, replaced fully by the festive amber of autumn. And when the first weekend market rolled in, Jean understood why Marco loved it so much. The town came alive, bustling with people out in the fresh autumn air. They walked around, admired the burning trees and pretty decorations hanging over the streets from the rooftops, tried food offered at the tables and bought what they liked. And even without tasting anything, the whole scene was gorgeous. Warm, freshly baked pies spread their delicious smell with the wind. Ribbon-decorated bottles and jars with jam in differing colours between red and yellow stood on tables beside boxes of homemade candy, rainbow lollipops and sweets shaped into ghosts and pumpkins. There was more than only edible products for sale too; a wide mix between candles and needlework to necklaces and postcards and pretty notebooks. All over hang a lovely atmosphere, with magic swirling on the breezes and sweet, earthy-smelling leaves falling to pieces on the ground beneath their feet.

The downside was that Marco got even busier than usual. First he had work in the bookshop, and then the evenings were spent preparing for each coming weekend. Jean was free to hang around too, but it was seldom he got time with Marco alone.

The afternoon they had planned to carve pumpkins, Jean came down a little earlier than the others just for the reason to be only the two of them for a moment. Marco didn’t seem to mind, and for a short while he actually relaxed with Jean on the couch. Lady took this opportunity to sleep in his lap, forcing him with snuggles to stay in place.

Marco chewed on an apple while he petted her lovingly, his breathing a bit strained because of the bunged up nose. The season of sweaters and fuzzy socks and cosy, candlelit evenings was also the season of insistent colds, and with how many people Marco was around every day it wasn’t strange he was feeling the effects of it. Jean was actually surprised he hadn’t caught anything himself yet, but he didn’t complain. Especially not when Marco kept sneezing for so long even Lady was disturbed in her sleep and almost left to find somewhere quieter.

On his way back from a bathroom visit, Jean stopped by the window and peered out. ‘Ah, I thought it was dark unusually early,’ he said with a nod. ‘The sky is full of thunder clouds.’

For some reason, Marco started laughing at that. Jean turned away from the window and looked at him with a deep frown, trying to make sense of the giggling. It was captivating, and Jean found his own smile pulling at one corner of his mouth even though he didn’t know what it was about. ‘What’s funny?’

Marco shook his head, pressing his lips together to slow the laughter. ‘Nothing,’ he said after a while, a grin still fleeting over his face and eyes gleaming. Jean raised an eyebrow at him. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Yeah, right.’

But Marco continued shaking his head when turning his focus back on petting the purring cat. ‘I like thunder,’ he then said, and there was a warm fondness in his eyes when they met Jean’s again. Jean still didn’t understand what it meant, or why the words made his ears burn, but he let it be and quickly looked back through the window at the canal floating by below.

The calm broke when Sasha waltzed in carrying her pumpkin, followed by Mikasa and Eren. She planted it on the table beside the already waiting two, rubbing her hands in anticipation. ‘Are you guys ready to bring out your artistic skills?’ she asked with a wide, toothy grin.

Marco had left the couch and walked over into the kitchen to get all the knives and chopping-boards and bowls they’d need, while Lady went to say hello to the guests still by the door.

Jean stood by the table opposite from Sasha, eyes following the slow movements of the other two. He hadn’t spent much time with them yet and it made him a bit wary, but Marco had assured him none of them had protested when Jean was invited too. Not even Eren. So hopefully they didn’t mind the intrusion.

Sasha leaned over the table and poked Jean hard on the arm; he tore his eyes from the siblings to give her a questioning glare. But her expression wasn’t playful or teasing. Her smile and eyes were soft, reassuring, and Jean let his shoulders relax a little. He still held the arms crossed over his chest, though.

Just in time with Mikasa and Eren nodding in hello to Jean, Marco returned carrying the material they needed and spread them out on to the table. Then, smiling in welcome to his friends, he moved around them so he could sit beside Jean on his side of it. Sasha’s words echoed in Jean’s head and he glanced at her again while she pushed their pumpkins closer to them. She caught Jean’s eyes, and responded with a meaning look.       

‘Everyone got their things?’ Marco checked before sitting down. ‘No more knives or anything needed?’

‘All’s good,’ Eren responded for all of them after gazing around the table. ‘But we need music!’ He got up from his seat before Marco had time to move and set to arrange it himself. ‘There!’

To the tunes of creepy instrumental songs, Sasha explained what they were about to do with a gleeful smile. A small competition, she called it, but from what Jean had heard from Marco they all took it very seriously. Especially Sasha and Eren. Best carving was decided afterwards and the winner would receive a prize.

Determined not to look bad in comparison to the others, Jean had already scribbled designs in his sketchbook and now he translated the best doodle from his head to the pumpkin skin with a pen. Beside him, Marco immediately attacked with the knife. Jean turned and stared at him. ‘Dude, don’t you plan it first?’

‘Nah,’ Marco said, smiling as he dug his fingers into the disgusting pumpkin goo. The grin only stretched wider the deeper in he got. ‘I can’t draw anyway.’

Jean squinted, first at Marco and then at the other three when they chuckled. ‘Marco’s pumpkins are always very good,’ Sasha said with a smirk, and Jean’s eyes narrowed further when they zeroed back on Marco.

When Marco first had presented the idea of pumpkin carvings to Jean, Jean had been reluctant. Sure, the creativity of it was nice, but the gut was sticky and disgusting and kind of ruined the rest for him. But Marco was insistent and vaguely promised he could remove it for Jean if only he agreed. And well… saying no to Marco’s enthusiasm wasn’t the easiest thing. So here they were. With a grumble Jean accepted that he most likely had to do the sticky bit himself, though, because he wasn’t going to say anything with the others there and Marco seemed far too into his own pumpkin to have any thoughts over for something he’d said a week ago.

Childlike glee danced over Marco’s face where he sat with pumpkin goo up to his elbows. It was comical and enthralling to watch him wearing that easy smile while carving such a hideous face into the pumpkin.

Jean didn’t know how the fuck he managed to, but the sting in his finger tore his stare from Marco and he hissed in pain. Marco glanced over and widened his eyes at the sight of the blood. ‘Oh god, Jean did it go deep?’ he asked, dropping his own things to grab Jean’s wrist. Sasha in her turn saved the pumpkin fruit from getting blood in it by moving the bowl away quick as lighting. Good priorities, indeed.

‘Shit... no I don’t know but I don’t think so...’

‘Come.’ Marco got up from his chair and pulled Jean along to the bathroom, ignoring Jean’s protests about how he was able to do it himself.

Marco quickly washed his own hands first to make sure he didn’t get dirt into the cut and then helped clean away all the blood. Jean glared on, hoping the scowl hid the embarrassment burning beneath his skin. What if any of the others had seen that his eyes had been on Marco when it happened? Ugh. This was going too far.

And yet, he kept staring at Marco. His concentrated expression with lips pressed together and the concerned crease between his brows. How gentle his hands were when they held Jean’s, long fingers sliding over his to remove all the goo and blood.

‘Hold this against it,’ Marco said and pressed paper towels into Jean’s hand. Not having to worry about blood dripping all over his bathroom floor, Marco opened the mirror cabinet and searched through it until he found a package of plasters. Halloween themed. Of course. Jean looked at them and then gave Marco a blank stare, not sure if he wanted to say ‘Really?’ or ‘I’m not even surprised’. Probably a mix of both.

Just as careful as before, Marco put the plaster over the cut. ‘There,’ he said, thumbing over the cute ghosts and pumpkins to make sure it stuck to Jean’s skin. ‘Now be more careful.’

‘I was,’ Jean muttered under his breath. Marco smiled a little.

When they got back outside, Mikasa asked how it was and Jean wriggled his finger in reply; she nodded and returned her focus to her pumpkin.

The good thing coming from this was that Marco offered to help remove all the gut from the centre of Jean’s pumpkin. His explanation was that it was best not to risk getting any of it in the cut, and while Jean doubted it was anything to worry about, he was pleased not to have to touch that gross shit more than necessary. Sitting back on his chair he watched Marco digging out the rest with a smug smile. ‘You’re too nice, Marco. But I’m not complaining,’ he said, to which Marco responded by sticking out his tongue.

Sasha completed her work first, and proceeded to clean the seeds from some of the flesh and strings sticking to them. When the first bowl filled up she took it out to the kitchen to prepare them before the roasting. Once there she stayed to start on their dinner too, sometimes shouting things at them to still be included in their conversations.

Jean was forced to admit that the others’ skill level on this was ridiculous high; Mikasa’s especially was a work of art, with detailed spider webs around a cat silhouette that would look wicked when lit. She was in her all own league, and there was no surprise that they all agreed to her victory.

The rest of them had all made different faces, and Sasha inspected Jean’s with gleaming eyes. ‘Wow you’re really good, actually,’ she said. ‘Don’t think you’ll be allowed to join us next year because if this continues _I’ll_ never win.’

Jean smiled smugly, but later scowled instead when she turned to Eren’s and praised it even more. Marco leaned closer and whispered with a cheeky smile that he thought Jean’s was the best one after his own, to which Jean responded with a huff.

‘Did you try at all?’ Jean couldn’t help but ask once they were outside, eyeing Marco’s pumpkin standing beside his own on the steps leading down from the front door. In a way it might be argued that it took skill to get it as wrecked as that and still have it stick together, but Jean wasn’t sure if it was that or just luck. In either case, the face was asymmetrical, put lightly. The other three stood there too for now; Sasha would later move hers to the ground outside her own door, while Mikasa and Eren would take theirs to Sun Garden. Jean's and Marco's pumpkins were to remain in their place until past Halloween, kept in good shape thanks to a preservation spell Sasha had sprinkled over them all before they were carried outside.

‘Aw, Jean. Don’t be mean.’ Marco gave him a sad look, but the smile was still twinkling in his eyes. ‘You can see it’s a face!’

‘A face that’s had a beauty surgery gone horribly wrong.’

Marco laughed, and Jean shook his head. This guy was unbelievable; Jean had just insulted his artwork and all he did was laugh.

‘This will scare people away rather than invite them to ring your doorbell,’ Jean pointed out as he stepped back to take in the whole picture. They were an interesting pair, their pumpkins, one crafted with such artistic fineness (if Jean was allowed to say so himself) and the other like a fucking murder.

‘Well, I mean, isn’t that its original purpose?’ Marco said, eyes gleaming. ‘Also, it means I get to keep all the candy to myself.’

Jean snorted at him. ‘I thought you were supposed to be this super kind, selfless angel.’

‘But _candy_ , Jean,’ Marco pouted. Jean shook his head again but couldn’t stop the amused smile. Marco didn’t do this to win a contest or prove any extraordinary artistic skills. Neither was he discouraged by knowing he wasn’t the best; he carved because it was fun. Because he enjoyed it. To bring laughs from his friends as well as himself. The rest didn’t matter. Understanding this spread a warmth through Jean’s chest that made him forget the chilly autumn air. ‘Plus,’ Marco added with a cheery voice, ‘I can share it with you.’

Jean melted a little at that, and only mumbled his reply into the scarf. Marco hummed happily, content and pleased with their handiwork sitting on the steps. They earned a few curious glances from people walking past, and Marco beamed in response.

‘Come on,’ he said then, returning towards the door. ‘I think Sasha’s done with the soup now. We don’t want to keep her waiting!’

*

The weather grew colder the deeper into October they got. Frost gleamed over the grass in the mornings, and fog lay thick around the hill tops. Sometimes it stayed all day, adding to the eerie mood of the season. The sun was shining through the first two weekends, but by the third Friday rain poured from the sky. Marco might be less eager to take long walks then, but he still insisted that going to the market would be worth it. Standing there with water dripping from his face and hair, Jean wasn’t so sure if he wanted to agree about that though. Even Marco admitted after a while that it was a bit too wet and raw for his liking.

Luckily the dance on Saturday evening was indoors, so it didn’t have to be cancelled because of the rainstorm.

Even though he agreed to come along, Jean had already said that he wouldn’t actually join in. But that didn’t stop Marco from grabbing his hand once it started, tugging him along into the laughing crowd. ‘Come on!’

‘I can’t dance, Marco–’

‘I’ll teach you, it’ll be fun!’

Sighing, Jean followed and then stood still when Marco positioned them in front of each other. Jean noticed that Marco didn’t hold him close like the other dancers did, but his warm hands around Jean’s was enough to make the steady rhythm in his chest beat faster. _Stop it_.

‘Do you want to lead or be led?’

Jean gave him a blank stare.

Marco laughed in apology. ‘Alright, fair enough. I’ll lead. I’ll walk like this; one – two – three – four – one… and you…’

‘Do you know both?’ Jean interrupted, too busy staring at Marco’s feet to get his own movement right.

‘Of course. Otherwise I can only dance with those who know the other steps. Now I can dance with anyone.’

Jean gaped at him, but had no time to ask any more before Mikasa appeared by Marco’s right shoulder. ‘Hey, Marco.’

Marco turned his head towards her. ‘Oh yes, alright. Jean. Look at what I do okay?’ He let Mikasa take the leading position. ‘This is how you’re supposed to move.’

Jean nodded dumbly and stepped back. His hands felt cold now that Marco had let go, and he pushed them into his pockets with more force than necessary.

Having attractive friends wasn’t a problem Jean had ever truly thought he would get. True, the few friends he had from home were good-looking too, but they weren’t of any such interest to him. He’d always admired people from afar, let his eyes linger a moment extra on strangers he wasn’t likely to see again. And even if he did, he never spoke to them. Especially not if they noticed him staring and winked in reply.

It was hard wanting one thing but knowing he wouldn’t be able to give in return what others so desperately sought... No, wait. Hard was an understatement, really. It fucking sucked. There.

And it sucked even more that his heart was weak and longing, reaching out and grasping at anything that showed him kindness. Usually he fled before it got past exchanged looks, the discomfort stronger than any fragile crushes.

But with Marco... oh, that was different. With Marco he could admire an adorable smile without having to worry about uncomfortable signals sent back his way. Marco didn’t even seem to notice, and if he did, then he didn’t care. No advances, no suggestive flirting. Maybe because he wasn’t into guys – yeah, yeah it was probably that. Except Ymir had implied he was… but on the other hand Jean didn’t know the siblings’ relationship. He didn’t know their jokes. And he didn’t ask Marco for answers either. He preferred not to bring up any such things.

Marco was a friend. A ridiculously cute and kind friend who had no other interest in Jean than friendship. As was for the best. It was what Jean wanted.

At least that’s what he told himself when he watched Marco dance around with his friends, smiling so bright Jean easily found him again even when the crowd for a moment swept them away.

Because here was the thing. The problem. The flip side of this bubble of goodness and sweetness and comfort. When Jean didn’t have a reason to pull away, the searching hands of the heart had time to catch on to something. And they held hard. Nestled themselves into the hold, setting root and growing. It had happened before Jean realised it – or admitted it, more so – and now he was caught. There was no way he could break loose from this; the mere thought of distancing himself from Marco’s friendship hurt so much he had to focus on something else. Actually doing it would break him.

So here he was. Hoping desperately that this feeling would fade, and at the same time hoping just as much that it wouldn’t need to. However slim that chance may be.

Jean shook his head when Marco gestured for them to dance, and Marco accepted it without teasing or trying to change his mind. Instead he found Sasha and Eren, and the four friends continued the well-known steps to the cheery music. Jean watched in silence, but despite the twisting emotions inside, he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them.

*

The last weekend of October was the most festive one; it was the party all the others had led up to. Marco had been talking about the masquerade since September and had with some persuasion convinced Jean that they should get ready for it together. He usually teamed up with Sasha and Mikasa, but they were going as a duo this year. When Jean commented on how rude it was to leave Marco out, Marco smiled and said it was because he’d told them he wanted to do something with Jean instead. Jean opened his mouth to reply but left it hanging a moment in stunned silence before he snapped it shut again. His ears were burning, and scowling he grumbled his ‘okay’ before turning away to hide from the embarrassment of his reaction and the hidden feelings curling in his chest.

In the end they didn’t go together, though. Marco’s cold had him shivering even when inside, and he fought on for days in his dazzled state refusing to listen to any suggestions from friends that he should rest instead. But he was finally stopped by one of the other arrangers on the last Saturday around lunchtime, when he was helping prepare the hired hall for the evening’s big party. Jean was following along to keep him company and help with things Marco allowed him to do. A woman with a dark long hair tied in a loose tail over one shoulder had been watching them for a while, Jean noticed, and when Marco swayed under the weight of the box he insisted on carrying himself, she left mixing the punch for later and walked over to them.

‘Marco, please dear, you’re nearly falling on your face,’ she said, reaching out to take the box from him. But Marco wouldn’t let her.

‘No, no I can do this—’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said and then pressed her hand to his forehead. ‘As I thought! You’re boiling from fever! You shouldn’t be out here in this state, and even if you insist on _you_ managing it, you might get someone else sick too.’ She turned to Jean, giving him a hard look that reminded him a lot of Eren, even though her eyes were brown and not green like his. ‘You're just letting him do this to himself?’

Jean gaped at her, ‘Hey, I—’

‘Leave him out of it.’ Marco took a deep sigh, sniffling, and straightened up his back in an attempt to appear in a better condition than he was. ‘Really, Carla, I’m _fine_. It’s only today and tomorrow left--’

‘And we can do it without you,’ she interrupted. Jean looked between them, squinting extra at the woman; he was certain he recognised more than that stare, and the more he thought about it the surer he got that she was somehow related to Eren.

Marco swayed on the spot, his eyes fluttering as he looked away. He seemed tenser. ‘I need to finish my tasks…’

‘There are others who can do it just as fine as you,’ she insisted, her hands rubbing reassuringly over his arms. ‘Don’t worry.’

The words didn’t seem to make him feel any better; the way he clutched the box to his chest was almost desperate. Jean didn’t know if it was a good idea or not, but the woman was right in that he shouldn’t have let Marco go on like this in the state he was in. ‘Hey,’ he said, placing his hands on the box too and fixing Marco’s eyes with his own. ‘She’s right. You should be home resting.’

Marco’s gaze flickered between them, brows furrowed and something strange flashing by in his tight expression as he looked at Jean again before turning away. But at least he nodded, forced a smile and handed the box over to her. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

She shook her head with a concerned expression. ‘Do take care of yourself now,’ she said before turning away to continue with the work.

Marco blinked rapidly and then hurried back into the small storage room before Jean had time to say anything more. Oh for fuck’s sake, was he going to take another box instead now? Jean followed after him, prepared to argue some sense into him. But Marco stood in a corner by an empty table, back facing the door and body language tense as he hugged himself. His breathing was strained and wavering; at first Jean thought it was because of the cold, but something about the sound gave him another idea too.

‘Are you crying because she took over your work?’ he blurted, cringing on the inside at how harsh he sounded. Great job, as usual.

‘I’m not crying!’ Marco burst out, turning around and wiping at his eyes. ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with crying. It’s a normal reaction to emotions. But no, I’m not crying now.’ With those blank eyes and wet cheeks he must have realised Jean wouldn’t believe him, because he turned away again, leaning with his hands on the table.

Jean didn’t comment on the weak lie. ‘You shouldn’t feel bad, Marco,’ he said instead and placed a hand on Marco’s shoulder. ‘They will handle it fine without you. In this state you’re not much use anyway.’

Marco closed his eyes and inhaled sharply through his stuffy nose, shaking his head slowly. His voice was somehow both weak and hard at the same time. ‘You’re not helping, Jean.’

Jean snapped his mouth shut and withdrew his hand. This was new, and he wasn’t sure how to act. It wasn’t like Marco never told him so when he disagreed about something, but he was still calm about it. Collected. Not that he was losing his temper now either, but something about him felt off. Marco was tense and unreachable, and yet too open. Too vulnerable.

And then he sighed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, straightening up and looking at Jean again. ‘I’m just tired, you know? Everything’s worse when you’re tired. And sick.’

Jean shook his head. ‘No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk about shit I don’t know. It’s not my place.’

Marco gave him a small smile, but it got nowhere near his eyes. ‘I’m going home, I’m just ruining the mood here. No one needs to see me like this.’ He chuckled a little. ‘I hope you have fun, really. This is a great evening and I don’t want you to miss out. You can hang around with Sasha and Mikasa, they don’t mind. I promise.’

Jean nodded and stepped to the side to let Marco pass. But as he reached the door, Jean spoke up again. ‘Hey, Marco.’ Marco looked back over his shoulder, expression open despite the traces of tears still lingering on his eyelashes and cheeks. Jean swallowed down the knot in his throat. ‘You did a great job with all this. Be proud of that.’

Marco’s hand slid hesitantly over the doorframe where it rested, but he nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he mumbled, eyes falling from Jean to the floor before he turned and left.

*

It wasn’t the same without him, and at first Jean was pretty pessimistic about the rest of the day. But Sasha noticed it almost immediately and refused to let him mope around on Halloween itself. She grabbed him by the arm when she saw him in a corner and dragged him along to the market square for more food. They got there in time to try out free stuff before the winners in different competitions were announced; best pie of that and this sort, best pumpkin carving, best kind of that jam, the most delicious fragrance of candles... And so on and so forth.

‘Are people seriously voting for all this stuff?’ Jean asked her, where they stood burrowed into their jackets on a bed of fallen, brown leaves.

Sasha shrugged. ‘I for one love to try everything,’ she said, no surprise there.

‘But how do you remember what tasted best?’

‘Please,’ she said. ‘I’m a pro. My taste buds know when they find a winner.’

Jean snorted, but still smirked in reply to her smug smile as she faced the spectacle again.

Mikasa, who had joined them too, wasn’t quite as interested. She kept glancing at her clock, gaze travelling towards other directions. ‘The party will be starting soon,’ she said finally, though her tone didn’t show any excitement or anticipation to get going. She exchanged a look with Sasha that Jean missed any deeper meaning of before she met his eyes instead. ‘We have to go do some stuff first but we can meet outside your house afterwards if you want, so we can go there together. Do you have a costume or do you wanna borrow one? Sasha got too many for her own good.’

‘I’m dedicated, okay!’ Sasha interjected, blowing up her chest in pride. ‘And Mikasa has her fair share of costumes too so she shouldn’t be talking.’

Mikasa rolled her eyes and Sasha stuck her tongue out in response, but the smiles hiding in the corners of their lips said enough.

Jean coughed, not sure how to phrase his response. ‘Actually… I was thinking of checking up on Marco,’ he said finally, figuring a straight answer was the best. He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the house.

Mikasa’s face opened in slight surprise, tilting her head a little as if judging Jean’s intentions behind such a statement. Jean raised an eyebrow at her, and she exchanged another look with Sasha before nodding. ‘Good,’ she said and gave him her bag.

‘What’s this?’ He peeked inside, eyes widening. ‘Is this all your candy?!’

‘Most of it, but Marco would have gotten it anyway.’

‘He’ll die from too much sugar.’

‘You’re gonna eat some of it too so hopefully that stops him from eating too much. And anyway, it’s good to have in case you get any problems.’

‘Problems?’

‘You might have to bargain your way in, depending on his mood. And he can’t say no to these.’

Jean decided not to ask any more and just wait and see for himself when he got there. He leaned away, unsure if that had been her way to say bye or if they expected him to stay longer. But Sasha soon leaped forward, wide grin in her face. ‘I’ll walk with you! I need to get to the coffee shop anyway, so…’

Mikasa turned then and waved as she left in the other direction, and Sasha took the lead skipping over the frosty ground.

‘What are you going to do in the shop?’ Jean asked after a while, catching her attention again.

‘Oh, just getting a bit of magic dust,’ she replied with a hand wave. ‘I have special permissions.’

Jean raised an eyebrow at her, but didn’t comment further.

When they turned the corner and entered the street of their destinations, cold, wet stars landed on Jean’s nose and cheek. Surprised he glanced up, finding the dark sky sprinkled with snowflakes quietly falling over town. It was pretty much too; enough to have covered the ground in a soft layer of white before they reached Marco’s house.

‘And now Christmas begins,’ Sasha said, her voice grave and mysterious as she stared at the sky.

Jean sent her a crooked grin. ‘It’s not even midnight yet,’ he pointed out.

Sasha tore her eyes from the snow, a wicked grin spreading in her face. ‘Yeah, you’re right. You sure you don’t wanna spend the last night of Halloween with ghosts and zombies?’

Jean shook his head. ‘I’ll do with this one,’ he said, gesturing upwards to Marco’s floor.

Sasha snorted, but she was smiling. ‘Tell Marco hi from me,’ she said as she stepped away towards the coffee shop, her hand raised in goodbye. ‘Have a nice evening!’

It took a few knocks on the door before Marco opened, and once he did he looked ready to speak even before he knew who it was. But before he said anything his eyes must have fallen on Jean’s shoes, because they snapped up to his face, Marco’s own open in surprise at the sight of seeing him there. ‘O-oh,’ he got out, blinking. ‘Hi…’

‘Hey,’ Jean replied, now feeling a bit silly about standing there. He brushed the snow from his shoulders. ‘It’s snowing.’

Marco nodded and leaned on the door. ‘It always snows this night. It’ll melt away in a few days if not already tomorrow.’ He glanced at the clock over his own shoulder before frowning back at Jean. ‘It’s just eight. Shouldn’t you go to the party?’

Jean shrugged. ‘I’m not much for parties, to be honest.’ He held up the bag between them with a knowing smirk. ‘Soo, you wanna help me eat all this, or what?’

He didn’t get the reaction he had expected. Marco crossed the arms over his chest, not in an annoyed way but like he was cold and tried to hold in the little warmth he had left. His gaze wandered from the bag to the floor, but avoided looking directly at Jean. ‘I’m ill,’ he mumbled finally. ‘You might get sick too if you’re around me.’

‘Pff. Excuse not to work.’

Marco didn’t reply.

‘Hey, look,’ Jean continued, fumbling for the right words. ‘If you don’t want to, sure. But I still won’t go to that party. I’ll go upstairs and sit there by myself, like you, except I have the candy, and I’ll eat until I can no longer move.’ He watched Marco for a smile, but Marco’s lips remained a thin line. ‘I’m not trying to _make_ you spend time with me or anything, but… I honestly don’t care if I get sick. I just… I don’t want you to be alone tonight, alright?’

The crease between Marco’s brows deepened, and he hugged himself tighter. ‘It’s fine, I’m just sleeping anyway…’

Jean gave him a stern look, and he turned away again. At that moment Lady came padding from the kitchen, and most likely Marco’s bedroom beyond that. She didn’t falter the slightest before continuing right past Marco’s feet out to Jean, meowing in welcome as she circled his legs. Jean hunched down to pick her up; purring happily in his arms she turned her head back to look at Marco.

Rolling his eyes but with a small smile fleeting over his lips, he pushed the door open and moved away to let them in.

Jean set up camp with Lady on the couch and when Marco returned with a bowl Jean poured the candy over into it. There was a delightful mix of gummi candy, taffy and chocolate, some he recognized and others that he assumed were homemade and bought on the market here in Jinae.

Marco sat down beside him, wrapped in blankets. One lay over his shoulders like a cape, another fell from his head like the hood, and the last one was in a messy bundle in his arms. His smile was gone again, but Jean did glimpse a small light in his tired eyes at the sight of the candy spilling over the bowl onto the glass surface of the table. Lady stood beside them, sniffing on a sour skull and then left it in disinterest. Marco snatched it for himself and then leaned back on the couch, blanket still on his head and the rest of him burrowing into the others with his knees drawn up to his chest while he nibbled on the candy bit.

Jean watched him a moment before he reached over and tugged the blanket down on his shoulders, freeing his tousled hair again. ‘Hey, are you alright?’ he asked.

Marco gave him a blank stare. ‘I’m sick.’

‘Yeah, I know but I mean…’ He chewed on his lip, not quite sure how to phrase it. Of course Marco wasn’t alright, it was clear on his face and his whole body language. ‘I mean except for that.’

Marco looked away then, his eyes gliding over the TV and wall behind it without really seeing it, his eyelashes fluttering and teeth silently chewing. ‘I’m sick,’ he said again. ‘And miserable and whiny and as much fun to be around as I want to be around anyone else.’

Jean’s own eye’s fell. This was stupid. Marco didn’t want him here, he wanted to be alone. As he tried to say before.

Jean was almost ready to get up and leave when Marco added, ‘And I really need a hug right now.’

Marco’s eyebrows were furrowed in such a sad expression, and Jean just wanted to make jokes to wipe it away. But he wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do now, or if it would even work. He wished to help but had nothing to offer. A hug, though? He could do that. Before Marco had time to say anything more Jean moved over on his knees and wrapped Marco into a hug. It started out as pretty awkward, because he realized that this must be the first time they hugged and it made him nervous and uncertain. Meanwhile Marco in his turn wasn’t sure how to respond to the surprise.  Jean’s fumbling hands eventually settled on Marco’s back, holding him in a way Jean hoped was comforting. Marco sighed then and pressed his nose into Jean’s shoulder, curling his fingers in the elbow folds of Jean’s hoodie.

‘Do you want me to go?’ Jean asked, voice low by Marco’s ear. Marco’s heat radiated from his skin but Jean didn’t pull away. If he got sick too, then so be it. Marco needed this. It was as simple as that.

Also, Jean had to admit to the darkest corner of his mind, it was nice having him cheek to cheek like this. Even if he had a fever and sniffled into Jean’s shirt.

‘No,’ he mumbled into Jean’s shoulder. Sighing, he took a deep breath and pushed away a little again, cold seeping in between them as he sat back against the other armrest. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being such a pessimistic baby and I don’t want to ruin your night with this.’

‘Hey, it’s alright.’ Jean patted on the blankets where he guessed Marco’s knee was. ‘You wanna talk?’

Marco shook his head.

‘Okay… what about a movie or something? I mean, it’s Halloween and all so…’ He offered a meaning smirk, and a small smile pulled on Marco’s lips as well. But it was brief.

‘Sure,’ he said though, nodding a little.

‘Nice! So what movies have you got?’ Jean pushed himself off the couch cushion and slid down on his knees by the TV stand where the stacks of movies were stored. ‘Anything specific you feel like watching?’ he asked, turned towards the DVD folders he was looking through.  Then he heard the sound of cloth being dragged over the floor, and the next moment Marco was kneeling beside him. He’d left two blankets on the couch, doing with only the cape one for this mission to pick entertainment. His gaze searched over what Jean had brought out and spread on the floor and then shifted focus to the shelves.

‘This one,’ he said as he pulled out the movie from there. Jean peered down at the cover of _The_ _Nightmare Before Christmas_.

Raising an eyebrow in question he met Marco’s eyes again. ‘Really?’ he wondered. ‘Don’t you want to watch something actually scary?’

‘No, I want to watch this one,’ Marco insisted with childlike determination, brows and mouth furrowed in a pout.

Jean chuckled and took it from him. ‘Alright, alright, go get comfortable and I’ll put it on.’

Marco kept sneezing and coughing, but his mood seemed to increase at least a little when humming along to the songs. They started out with the usual space between them on the couch, and Lady snuggling into the folds of all blankets Marco had wrapped over them both. But as the movie rolled on, Jean sensed how Marco’s warmth slowly got closer. Not that Jean minded of course. It was nice to see Marco relaxing beside him.

When Marco’s cheek suddenly rested on Jean’s shoulder, however, his mind went blank for a moment. He tensed in surprise, and almost instantly, Marco straightened up again. ‘Oh! I’m sorry. I’m so used to being close with Sasha and Mikasa, I forgot you don’t like that.’

Jean stared at him, not sure what to say. He never told Marco about his discomfort with people invading his personal space because there was never any need to. Jean thought Marco just behaved as usual, but he must have actually picked it up from signals Jean wasn’t even aware he was sending out and made sure not to make him uncomfortable. A memory from his first meeting with Marco’s mum flashed by through his head; she had indicated with her body language that she was going to hug him in welcome too, despite having never met him before. She stopped herself after a look from Marco, only smiling and clasping Jean’s hand instead. Jean had assumed at the time it had been a silent way to tell her not to be embarrassing, but now he wasn’t so sure.

He swallowed and blinked at Marco’s apologetic expression. The thing was, he didn’t mind having Marco close. At all. ‘Oh no, it’s alright,’ he replied quickly, feeling the beginning of a burn warming his ears. Goddamnit.

Marco titled his head to the side, the crease between his brows deepening as he searched Jean’s face for any traces of hesitation. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, really. It’s fine.’ To demonstrate this, Jean moved a tiny bit closer, inviting Marco to lean back against him. A drowsy smile spread in Marco’s face at that. He rubbed his eye, wrapped the blanket more around him while stretching for the candy bowl on the table, and then settled back close to Jean’s side. His cheek wasn’t fully resting on Jean’s shoulder right away, but it didn’t take long before it was.

Jean did his best to relax, and found to his surprise that it wasn’t so hard. Marco was warm beside him – more so because of the slight fever, of course – and comfortable to have close. Jean had to resist the urge to lean his own cheek to the top of Marco’s head as well. Not that Marco would’ve cared, but he had to retain at least a few boundaries for the sake of his own sanity.

He did glance at Marco, though. At his rosy cheeks and nose and the tousled hair sticking up in weird directions. Sleepy eyes following the scene playing out on the TV, teeth slowly chewing on taffy. It was a bit redundant to point out that he was cute, but that was still the only thing Jean’s head managed to chant as reaction.

Jean internally dragged a hand down his own face and burned his eyes back to the screen. _Focus on Jack telling the town about Christmas. Forget everything else._

They watched the familiar story unfold, propping themselves with too much candy and petting the snoozing cat. Marco’s smiles were genuine again, his eyes shining. The sight filled Jean with pleased pride, because _he_ had helped with that.

‘Here we go,’ Jean chuckled when Boogie started singing **,** expecting Marco to join in with a low voice like earlier. But there came nothing from him, not even a half-amused huff at Jean’s comment. ‘Marco?’ he asked, listening for any reply. And then his stomach dropped.

Small, soft snores filtered through Marco’s bunged up nostrils and parted lips, his cheek still pressed to Jean’s shoulder. It ought to be an awfully uncomfortable resting place, but the tiny noises that sailed through the air from him were content. Peaceful.

Jean sat frozen, his back rigid and hands clutching the pillow painfully to his chest. He didn’t dare to breathe; what if he woke Marco? What if he ruined this?

 _That’s what you should do_ , one part of him argued. _Stop it before it’s too late. Pull away. Run. Run run run run--_

But he couldn’t. It was already too late. He didn’t even have to _see_ Marco, or hear nice words from him, or his captivating laugh. His sleepy breathing against Jean’s arm was enough to have Jean’s heart fluttering and sighing, and defeated Jean melted into the back of the couch. Marco hummed and burrowed closer, his nose nuzzling into the folds of Jean’s shirt. He smiled. Jean could _feel_ him smile.

 _Fuck_.

Jean let out a wavering sigh, staring up at the ceiling and pressing his lips together before closing his eyes. Trying hard to build walls, but they were already full of holes.

_You’re done for, Kirstein._

So done for.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! Okay so this took longer than I'd wanted, but vacation away from laptop was followed by two stressful weeks of schoolwork, so the Christmassy chapter had to wait. But here it is!
> 
> Also, I want to say thank you for all the comments so far! I've been slow at replying, but I will catch up soon I hope. Every one of them brings a wide smile to my face :'D I'm so happy you guys are enjoying the story, and I hope you'll continue to do so! <3
> 
> As always, any form of feedback is very appreciated; on here, [tumblr](http://emelianss.tumblr.com) and/or [twitter](https://twitter.com/emelianss). I hope you like the update!

The rest of autumn passed by with darkness and lit candles; the snow melted away two days after it fell, and the ground remained naked but for frosty mornings for the rest of November. Marco did his best to make up for the mess that the Halloween evening had become, inviting Jean over for movie-nights where he _didn’t_ fall asleep halfway through the first one. Not that Jean didn’t insist on it being okay – because he did, and genuinely so. There was no trace of annoyance – other than his rolling eyes when Marco kept apologising. Still, the foggy memory of how Jean had helped Marco back to bed and tucked him in, and the sleepy whining Marco wished he didn’t remember uttering, made it hard not to want to give something in return... and properly apologise for the embarrassing bits.

Jean had continued to check in on Marco the following days as well, just making sure he was getting better and eating. And by some kind of miracle Jean’s immune system crushed any threatening virus from rooting; he remained well despite all the time Marco sneezed on him. It was even more amazing considering how long it took before he dressed according to the weather; to the very last Jean ignored his winter coat, refusing to admit and face the fact that Jinae got its cold earlier than Trost. He still complained though, huffing and puffing about the chilling air both out- and inside. Marco instructed him to always wear fuzzy socks when he visited, to fight the cold floor of the apartment. Jean muttered a question about why Marco didn’t tell his neighbour to put that cooling magic thing somewhere else during winter, and concluded that Marco was too nice for his own good. Yet, he wriggled his toes in the socks Marco lent him, mumbling about how soft and warm they were.

In the beginning of December, mum set a date for the dinner she had invited Jean to back in September. ‘Just us this time,’ she said and Marco nodded even though she couldn’t see it over the phone. ‘And you could clean out some stuff from the basement when you’re here too.’

‘ _Mum_ ,’ Marco complained. ‘How fun is that for him? And anyway, you really want me to show that mess to him?’

He could almost see how she waved her hand in dismissal thanks to her voice when she answered, ‘You can do with some help navigating through all that.’

Sighing with his forehead pressed to the wall, Marco wondered why he had been given the only mother he knew of who didn’t care about guests seeing their home in terrible states.

‘And anyway, with how much he’s hanging out with you he’s probably already used to how _your_ apartment looks.’

‘It’s not _that_ bad!’ Marco insisted. ‘You just always come here when I haven’t had time to clean!’

‘Pff, keep telling yourself that, love. I on the other hand won’t believe it until I see it.’

‘I hate you.’

‘No, you love me. Now what about Saturday? Is it a good day, you think?’

It had been a chilly afternoon when they took the walk over to where Marco’s parents lived, the world still dead and grey and with nothing more than the layer of frost lacing the frozen earth and naked tree branches. Heavy clouds hung around the hills, cladding the tops in mist and mystery.

As it turned out, Jean didn’t mind at all helping with Marco’s old things, and Marco wasn’t sure if he was glad or bitter about that. But once they got started, they had a much greater time than Marco first expected. Large boxes full of toys, clothes and schoolbooks now filled the floor of the basement, containing everything his parents had refused to throw away during the past 24 years. They had tried clearing stuff away before too, but when mum added nostalgic memories to things Marco barely remembered himself it was still hard to let go. That’s why she had decided to stay away this time, to see if it was easier for him without her stories about how much he had _loved_ that particular thing when he was eight and a half.

‘Oh my god,’ Marco chuckled as he freed the notebook he had spotted from the old toys. What was it doing in this box? ‘I thought I accidentally threw this away.’

Jean gave him a curious look, his gaze torn from the box he had been going through. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s – aah...’ Marco flipped through the pages, familiar scribbles and illustrations looking back at him like old memories in photographs. Nostalgia was thick with the glue in the binding, and he smiled warmly. ‘I had this plan when I was younger,’ he said then with a glance at Jean, a small laugh following the words. ‘I wanted to write a book about mystical beings. Explore forests and mountains and learn their secrets. I even did some local research – here’s the fairy I told you about, remember?’

He marked the page with his finger and handed it over to Jean, who took it with utmost care. Like it was an old tome holding knowledge of humanity’s past and existence. He eyed the facing pages with curious eyes, and a small smile curled the corners of his mouth upwards in a fond expression.

‘I think it was Armin’s fault; older kid going on about travels and exploring the hidden parts of the world... I was sold.’ Marco chuckled at the memory.

Jean gave him a quick glance before returning to the reading, smile widening. ‘This is great. Seriously.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that. Could have been maybe. I wasn’t very good at drawing back then either, though,’ Marco remarked with a snort at his own handiwork.

Jean shook his head in argument and turned the pages slowly. ‘It’s really nice for a little kid,’ he said, not once taking his eyes off the stuff covering them.

‘Hm. I’m pretty sure I was 15 when I made those.’ Marco smirked at Jean when his eyes snapped up, a slight flush spreading over his cheeks. ‘But thanks.’

‘They’re not that bad. Colourful and happy.’ Jean pointed at the page he had currently open. ‘These symbols are really cool.’

‘Mmhm. Mikasa made those.’ Marco hummed to himself. ‘She and Sasha both stuck with their interests. She’s doing her masters in Magic of Symbolic Runes now. Dunno if anyone’s told you that.’

‘Hm no. But I guess I haven’t asked either.’ Jean tore his focus from the notebook and gave Marco a searching look. ‘Why did you stop this?’

Silence fell with Marco’s eyes; they searched for something to focus on that wasn’t Jean, but nothing caught them for long. Marco kept his smile, but something in the sudden tension hanging between them told him Jean saw it waver. When he sent a quick glance in Jean’s direction Jean’s brow was furrowed in question, his eyes squinting to see what was hidden from him. ‘I got other things on my mind,’ Marco finally said with a shrug. ‘You grow up and find new interests, new priorities.’

Jean hummed, gaze falling back to the facing pages in his lap. ‘Yeah... I know what you mean,’ he mumbled before looking up again. ‘You’re still working with books, though. You like your job.’

Marco smiled, intent on making it more genuine this time. ‘I do, yeah.’

The next moment mum made herself known by nearly falling over one of the boxes Marco had left standing in the doorway. Low but colourful swearing sailed through the air between the shelves, and Marco sent Jean an amused glance before he forced the expression from his face, instead showing how sorry he was for almost breaking her leg.

‘This is what I get for coming down to tell you dinner is ready,’ she said when she appeared, frizzy strands of hair standing out around her head where they’d gotten loose from the hairclaw.

‘Sorry, mum, I forgot to move it.’

‘Well at least you’re doing this so I guess I shouldn’t complain,’ she said. ‘And I’m alive so all is good. But please put it back now before we go up, or you’ll end up falling over it when you come down again.’

They did as she asked and then followed her lead up the stairs. When they walked through the living room towards the kitchen, dad sat in the same chair he’d been in when they arrived two hours ago, still reading his book. Mum tapped him on the head when she passed him, alerting him that dinner was ready, and he hummed in response without taking his eyes from the page. On the footstool between his colourful socks, Lady was curled around a small teddy bear, soft paws holding it dear while she snoozed.

‘You got the book love from your dad,’ Jean observed when they were out of dad’s earshot – though it wasn’t likely that he would’ve heard it even if they’d been standing right beside him. Jean tried not to smile, but the amusement was still clear in his eyes.

‘Yeah,’ Marco agreed, chuckling. ‘He was more interested in reading than going on dates with mum. It’s a wonder me and Ymir exist.’

Mum gestured for them both to sit down by the already set table, and Jean followed Marco towards the side that placed them with their backs to the windows. Mum carried the pot from the stove with practised hands, steam still billowing from it as she put it down on the trivets. She hummed cheerily to herself, sending both boys affectionate smiles over the candles she lit between them.

‘I said it’s DINNER!’ she then called towards the other room, voice sharp and direct. But, as both she and Marco could have guessed, she still had to go get him in person. Her muttering trailed off as she left their earshot, but when she smacked something into the back of the chair the sound was still loud enough for them to hear. ‘I thought you’d show some better manners when we have a guest here,’ she was saying when she came back, dad padding behind her with a slightly ashamed expression. Lady ran after them and leapt up on the last remaining chair; a stool with a soft pillow that was especially meant for her, and therefore already marked by her fur. She inspected the food before deciding she wasn’t interested and curled back into a ball.

‘So Jean,’ mum said a few minutes into the dinner, giving him a warm smile that hopefully stopped any anxious nerves from spiking. She had a tendency to sound a little too much like an investigator when asking people general things, and Marco glanced at Jean’s reaction through the corner of his eyes. ‘You’re from Trost, yes? How come you ended up here of all places?’ She rested her elbows on the table, knife and fork hanging in mid-air with her full focus on Jean sitting across from her.

Jean almost answered with his mouth full of food, snorted and swallowed it down before trying again. ‘Oh, well… yes, I do. I was told about this project and I… applied for it. And got the job. So that’s just that. No special reason why I came here, really.’

‘You’re a joiner? Did you go to school in Trost for that?’

‘ _Mum_ ,’ Marco said, giving her a meaning stare. ‘You’re getting a bit too into the investigation here.’

‘Oh! Oh no, I’m sorry, Jean! I didn’t mean to interrogate you, it’s a bad habit. Comes with the job.’

‘You’re a veterinary, not a journalist,’ Marco pointed out. ‘Or a detective.’

‘Yes but I did write for the campus magazine when I studied in Mitras,’ she said, pointing at Marco. ‘But anyway, Marco’s right,’ she continued, turned back towards Jean. ‘I might be a bit too into my crime TV shows.’ She gave him an apologetic smile and picked up her cutlery again. ‘I’ll try to calm it down from now on.’

‘Oh, no it’s alright,’ Jean said, though the glance he sent Marco still held a brief _thank you_. ‘Technically I’m still in training, but yes. I started taking classes in high school, and then after that I got an apprenticeship. I actually wanted to study something else but I didn’t get in so I continued with that while waiting. And then… well.’ He shrugged, giving her an uncertain smile. ‘I stayed.’

Mum and dad nodded in understanding. ‘But you like it?’

‘Yes, sure,’ Jean replied. Marco still studied his expression; it wasn’t like Jean would share with them if he detested this job more than his worst nightmare. But mum only nodded, satisfied by the answer. Dad did notice Marco’s frown, though, and he sent a silent message through a look that Marco interpreted as understanding.

‘Good thing the attic was available to rent,’ he said, smiling at Jean and then Marco. ‘Otherwise we wouldn’t have the pleasure of having you over for dinner tonight.’

Jean looked a little startled at that, and Marco realised it must be the first time dad said something so long to him. But then Jean glanced at Marco and nodded numbly.

‘Almost like it’s meant to be,’ mum added, ignoring Marco’s rolling eyes. ‘Marco has told us such nice things about you. I’m so glad that you’re friends!’

A faint pink spread over Jean’s cheekbones at that, and he mumbled something in agreement before the stew became of very great interest to him. ‘This tastes really good,’ he got out after a few bites, changing the subject.

Except for the slightly awkward start, it was a nice dinner and as far as Marco noted Jean didn’t seem uncomfortable once the tension melted away. Jean grinned and talked back, asking questions in turn about their jobs and interests. He seemed especially amused when mum got started on Marco’s childhood stories, and sent Marco a smirk when she repeated the story about when Marco spit out the cookie on the floor.

After dinner Marco and Jean returned down to the basement to clean up all the disordered arrangements they’d caused while being there earlier. Marco pushed back the boxes marked KEEP on their original places and then carried the throw-away and give-away box up on the ground floor. In it was also the old notebook, but Marco had no intention to get rid of that. When he put it in his bag by the coats he noticed Jean watching from behind him. But Jean didn’t say anything, or acknowledge that he saw. He must have understood Marco wanted it for himself for now, without any more questions.

Mum called them back into the living room where she and dad were watching TV. ‘You’re staying for some gingerbread hearts, right? And dad made saffron buns yesterday, you must try them!’

Marco looked to Jean to make sure he wasn’t silently screaming to get away, and when he showed no such sign Marco nodded. So they sat down too, soon wrapped in the cosy, candlelit atmosphere smelling of Christmas, with mum’s usual commentary in the background. She apologised halfway through the show in case it annoyed Jean, but Jean just shook his head and continued to chuckle where he sat hidden beside Marco on the couch.

Lady spent a lot of the time in contact with dad, purring in his lap or on top of the back of the chair by his shoulders. But when she moved she found her way over to Jean, stepping over all their thighs before she sat down on his. He only glanced at her before returning his eyes to the TV, but stroked his hand over her fur with familiarity, and Marco noticed mum smiling fondly when she saw how content the cat was with him.

Mum hugged them both goodbye this time, but only after first double checking with Jean if it was okay. He was taken aback by this gesture but then nodded and mumbled a thank you for the food and all into her hair.

Dad had returned to his book and Marco gave him a one-armed hug, leaned down to the level of the chair; dad responded with patting him on the arm.

After putting the harness on Lady and holding the leash in one hand Marco led the way back outside into the dark. A few steps down the road the first twinkling stars landed on their heads and shoulders, slowly covering the ground as they walked. Now the dark night was lit up by the white blanket below it, the newly fallen snow crisp beneath their feet. Lady ran ahead as far as the leash let her, and then returned to their side when Jean kicked snow for her to chase; his face split in a wide grin at her eagerness to catch it.

‘You know… I used to want to be an architect,’ he said all of a sudden, eyes lingering on the houses they walked past.

‘Oh?’ Marco sounded, curiously tilting his head to the side as he nudged Jean with his elbow to go on. ‘Why didn’t you?’

Jean shrugged. ‘Things don’t always turn out the way you want…’ He gave Marco a meaning look. ‘Other stuff come in between.’

Marco nodded, thinking back to their earlier conversation. He wanted to learn more about this but he also knew some things weren’t for sharing. He had avoided Jean’s questions too, so he shouldn’t bother him with any either. ‘You’re working with creating, though,’ he said, similar to what Jean had said to him before. ‘It might be a step on the way.’

A small smirk fleeted over Jean’s face. ‘Maybe,’ he exhaled, but something in his voice told Marco he doubted it was that easy. ‘Well actually I…’ He sighed. ‘There’s this school I want to get into,’ he said. ‘Back home. It has a great reputation and the projects the students get to do are so interesting and actually _meaningful_. They have a special area in the city all designed by graduating students from there, from years ago. Now there isn’t space left at that specific place anymore, but the school finds other areas and instead the new buildings are spread all over the city.’ His eyes gleamed, and Marco smiled at the sight. ‘I’ve wanted to study there since I was little. Since I saw all those funny houses and… how much _art_ is put into it.’ He made a strong gesture with his hands from his chest to illustrate how much feeling the place had woken in him. ‘But you can imagine yourself how hard it is to get into a school like that,’ he muttered, eyes downcast and only bitterness left in his expression. ‘Which is good, of course; it keeps the quality high. But it fucking sucks when you’re not good enough for it.’

The words cut into Marco’s skin with uncomfortable familiarity, and it took a moment extra before he could swallow down the bad feeling and answer him. ‘You were declined?’

Jean nodded, eyes on the snow. ‘Four times,’ he said, kicking at it again; Lady rushed there with delight. ‘And as if that wasn’t enough, one of my only friends applied for the first time last year. And got in.’ He laughed dryly, meeting Marco’s gaze again. ‘Imagine that. Being jealous and bitter of your friends can ruin a lot. Especially when you’re supposed to be happy for her and be interested when she shares all this cool stuff they get to do and sigh in shared pain when she expresses her suffering about how much it is to study… But you just want to tell her to shut the fuck up and stop complaining.’ He glanced at Marco. ‘You’re nicer than me though so you would probably handle it better than I did…’ Another sigh followed the humourless chuckle, the silence stretching while Marco waited for him to continue. When he did his voice was subdued and hesitant. ‘It’s just… I would take all of that, every sleepless night and all the stress if it meant I could be in there. But it’s not gonna happen.’

Marco hummed with a nod. He wanted to give Jean a hug, but wasn’t sure if it would be appreciated so he stayed back. ‘Don’t give up.’

Jean pressed his lips together, brows furrowing. ‘I wouldn’t. But they raised the bar for this year’s applications. Not only are my grades not good enough – now I don’t even have grades in all the subjects needed to even be considered.’

Marco chewed on his lip, wishing he could help. But he had no power over such things, and it was with a frustrating sting he had to accept he couldn’t fix it.

Jean only sighed, frustration at the situation or himself sneaking back into his tone. ‘And of course, there are other schools. I just have to convince that annoying part of me that want the best and won’t settle for less.’

‘You’ll get there, Jean. Somehow.’

Jean didn’t answer. He blinked furiously, looking away at the houses again. ‘But anyway. These houses here are so special, they’ve actually inspired me a lot since I came here. Trost is so _modern_. It’s cool too but it feels so much more… above you. Like you’re just one small part of something much bigger and greater than you and you’re kinda insignificant compared to all that. These houses…’ He gestured towards the street, but Marco sensed it was meant to include the whole town. ‘Jinae… it’s so homey, so gentle.’

Marco couldn’t stop himself from smiling wide at those words, warmth spreading in his chest. ‘I’m glad to hear you think that.’

They were almost home when Lady got too investigated in the snow on the side of the road. Marco picked her up to get them moving faster; she fussed a little before she settled with her front paws on his shoulder, purring lovingly while watching the calm, descending ice-stars with curious eyes.

*

The snow fell and melted more than once again before it finally seemed to stay in the middle of December. By then every part of Jinae was set in the holiday spirit. Houses were decorated with light strings around doors and roofs and hanging from them across the roads. Star-shaped lamps hung in the snow-dusted shop windows along with all the suggestion for present and fancy wrappings of decorative boxes. The square had its own Christmas tree, alight and shining while faint tunes of familiar songs sailed through the air somewhere in the distance.

The days were hectic, though, despite the stillness of the weather. There wasn’t a moment without a customer in the shop, and around lunch and when people had left work in the afternoon there even grew a long line to the counter. Marco didn’t complain, of course. They needed every sale they could make, and he was well aware that what they earned now would have to last into the dead months of January and February. Being only him and Mina at this time of year was an impossibility, but even with the extra shop assistant it was still an awfully lot to do. After saying goodbye to the kid this afternoon and turning the sign to closed on the door, Marco sank down on a chair just for a moment of rest before cleaning up. He was so tired he might even have fallen asleep if not the doorbell had woken him up again. He heard Jean curse and stamp the snow from his boots before walking inside. ‘This cold should be illegal!’ he muttered. ‘I’m chilled to my bones.’

Something Marco had learned fast enough, was that Jean had a tendency to be ice cold. His hands were so even when inside, dressed in all the layers Marco had offered to lend him, and now he stood shivering in his winter coat with arms crossed tight over his chest and hands burrowed in the bends of them. At least he kept his ice cube fingers to himself; whenever Sasha was cold she attacked Marco, snuggled up close and dug her hands in underneath his shirt to steal his warmth.

Jean frowned down at Marco. ‘You alright?’ he asked, concern flashing by in his eyes.

Marco swatted it away with his hand, rubbing his eye with the other. ‘Yeah, yeah of course. Just tired.’ He sighed, straightening on the edge of the chair to collect the strength he needed to push up from it. ‘It’s really stressful these days. Everyone has presents to buy.’

‘Why don’t you hire more people?’ Jean asked, reaching out a hand to offer support when Marco finally forced himself back on his feet. Marco touched his fingers in thanks but didn’t take them. ‘You’re going to work yourself to death going on like this.’

‘I’m fine,’ Marco insisted, ignoring the burn in his stomach that had become a well-known visitor the past weeks. ‘I just have to put up the last decorations and I’m set to go home for today.’

‘I’ll help you,’ Jean said without missing a beat, following after in Marco’s slow lead towards the small stock room; Marco gave him a thankful smile in reply.

Usually they did all the decorations in November. But because of unplanned rearrangements of some shelves those specific ones now stood plain in comparison to the glittering ornaments and Christmas figures made of yarn dwelling on the others. After quickly swiping over the floor with the broom and taking the money out of the cashier, Marco instructed where to place the decorations remaining in the box he brought out. It didn’t take very long, but it felt nice not to rush it when Jean was there too.

‘How’s it going with that other stuff you’re doing?’ Jean asked after a while, jingling bells in his hands that he tried to fasten on a hook hanging from the side of one bookshelf.

Marco sensed his eyes piercing into him. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’m almost done with my preparations, actually. After that it’s up to the others to organise it all properly. Still a week away until the Midwinter Market so it feels nice to be on time.’

Jean nodded and his eyes left Marco’s side. Marco was glad the subject was dropped at that, and he didn’t bring up how he’d barely slept the past week. If Jean knew about that he was sure to protest, and Marco didn’t want to explain that the economic situation didn’t allow for hiring more shop assistants, whether he wanted to or not.

Still, listening to Jean muttering about the decorations and making dumb jokes, Marco found himself relaxing a little despite everything else.

*

On the 16th of December, the apartment was filled with song and dancing Christmas smells of cinnamon and saffron and freshly made cookies. Sasha held the steering wheel, with flour up to her elbows and powdered over her apron and even in her face. She swung her hips to the rhythm of the music, singing into the ladle she used as a microphone, bumping her hip into Marco’s when he was close enough to her. The radio produced Christmas carol after another, the cheery tunes shimmering in the glitter hanging around the doorframe and the candle flames dancing along in the candlesticks on the small table.

Sasha had arrived early this morning, and they started the day by putting up the last decorations on the tree in the living room. When Jean came down around 2, he was met by the sight of the two dancing around singing along to _All I Want For Christmas_ at the highest volume. He stood staring in the doorway until Marco noticed him and ran over to pull him into the fun, singing the chorus with a wide smile. Jean scowled, but his ears were red, and Marco laughed brightly.

‘First of all, you need a Christmas sweater,’ Marco said, chuckling at the sight of Jean’s horrified expression once the song ended. He was watching Marco’s colourful Christmas tree shirt, and Marco almost heard the silent screaming in his head by the look of his wide eyes.

‘I don’t have any,’ Jean tried as an argument, but Marco dragged him along into his bedroom to find one for him to wear.

‘It’s mandatory, sorry. If you don’t put it on you’ll have to leave.’

For a short moment it actually seemed as if Jean was going to turn on the spot, but receiving the reindeer shirt he sighed and shook his head with a slight curve to his lips. ‘Fine, whatever,’ he muttered and took off his own hoodie to wear the sweater Marco had picked out for him instead.

Now Marco took the tray filled with chocolate chips cookies out of the oven and put it down to cool on the bench. They looked delicious, and he couldn’t wait to try one. While he inspected them, Sasha put another tray into the oven and set the timer. The next moment another well-known tune burst through the loudspeakers and Sasha’s eyes widened. ‘Yooooo!’ she exclaimed, hands grabbing for Marco’s arm and finding more flour on the way. She ended up smearing it over Marco’s cheek, both of them laughing at each other while they danced.

‘You’re gonna have fun cleaning this up later,’ Jean remarked from where he stood on Marco’s other side, to which Marco responded by flicking flour in his direction too.

‘We live in the moment, Jean,’ he said, smiling wide. Jean shook his head, but he smiled too.

Lady had been banished from the kitchen to avoid fur in the dough, so instead she sat and peered at them miserably from behind the bars of the makeshift fence Marco put up in the doorway to the kitchen. She meowed at them, demanding attention, but them talking to her wasn’t enough to quench her thirst. She wanted cuddles, and when Marco moved the fence away for a moment to slip out and didn’t hunch down to pet her, she attacked his feet while he walked over to the bathroom. ‘Goddamnit, you don’t want flour all over your fur or you’ll have to bathe today,’ he said to her. ‘And even if you’d want that I don’t have time for it so nope. No cuddles for you until this is done.’

‘Meeeoow!’

‘I said no. Go play with your toys.’

After washing his hands Marco reached for the ringing landline phone, calling his hello over the music and Sasha’s manic cackling over cookies.

‘Hey, bro, reception acting up again now,’ Ymir greeted from the other end.

‘Yeah, but that’s what to expect with Midwinter so close,’ Marco said and tried to stroke Lady’s fur with his foot. Lady gnawed on his big toe playfully and he shoved her away with a betrayed glare. ‘You guys coming home for the Holidays?’

‘We are, actually! Or for Christmas at least. Midwinter will be spent here. And we’ll stay this time,’ she added with a dramatic pause. ‘Saw something about a house for sale a ten minute walk from the lake so we’re gonna check it out. It’s already been arranged.’

‘Whaaat really?’

‘ _Oh_ yeah.’ Marco pictured Ymir’s smug smirk to match her self-satisfied tone. ‘We’ve been watching the market in Jinae for months. Didn’t tell anyone though because we don’t need you lot stressing us about it.’

‘I could have kept it secret.’

‘Yeah right.’

Marco huffed, but it was mostly directed at Lady who was back to rubbing against his legs.

‘So what’s up?’ Ymir asked.

‘Oh, me, Sasha and Jean are baking and singing Christmas songs,’ Marco smiled into the phone. ‘Sasha can’t come to Sun Garden because she’s got a date but me and Jean are going.’

‘Ooohh nice,’ Ymir remarked with a telling tone in her voice. ‘The two of you, hm?’

‘Ymir, can you quit it, okay? I’ve already told you to stop talking about him that way. Can I please make new friends without you being such a goddamn pain about it?’

‘Geez sorry, I’m just joking.’

‘Well, it’s not funny so you can drop it.’

‘Aw, Marco. You know I only want you to be happy.’

‘Constantly reminding me about this isn’t exactly helping, is it?’ Marco scowled into the phone even though she couldn’t see him. ‘And it’s not only about me,’ he added, glancing around the corner towards the kitchen to make sure they were too busy singing along to the loud music to hear anything of the conversation. Just in case, he still hushed his voice. ‘You made Jean really uncomfortable, did you realise that?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Ymir sounded more defensive than apologetic. ‘He didn’t hear this… or you’re having speaker on or something?’

‘I’m on the landline phone, there’s no speaker option on it. And I’m talking about the summer. When you suggested we were _dating._ I think that was the reason he didn’t come along; because you’re so bad at reading the situation before saying things.’

Ymir fell silent then. ‘You know I didn’t mean it that way,’ she said after a while, her voice low and rid of any joking tone.

‘Maybe you should think more before speaking.’

‘Look, Marco, I’m sorry. Really.’

Marco heard her fidgeting on the other end, and he regretted snapping. But she needed to be told about this, he reasoned. She always did this, and it didn’t help the slightest with how he already felt about the subject. So he bit his lip to shush his own apology.

‘But it’s done already, I can’t do anything to change what I’ve already said three months ago.’

‘You can stop making new jokes about it,’ Marco sighed, but his voice was lighter now.

Ymir was quiet, and Marco wondered if she was nodding in silence. The tone of her ‘yes’ following it pretty much confirmed this, and he smiled a little.

‘I’m glad you’re coming home,’ he said, making sure to push away all traces of annoyance from his voice. ‘I’ve missed having you close. To be honest it would’ve sucked if you guys moved somewhere else.’

Ymir chuckled, her voice back to normal. ‘I’ve missed you too.’

They talked a few minutes more while Lady meowed at Marco’s feet, so loud Ymir heard her too. After hanging up Marco considered petting her a little, but he didn't want her to think she had won by being annoying.

‘Wow, you can actually sing really well,’ Jean said when Marco came back into the kitchen and Sasha flashed him a smile. The last tray was out of the oven, and Sasha was getting ready to leave. She disappeared to the bathroom for a while, returning wearing the sparkly red dress the silly sweater had hid before and the tail of her hair falling in soft curls down her neck.

‘I can’t believe you’re ditching us for Connie,’ Marco said, arms crossed and mouth pouting. ‘It’s a tradition!’

Sasha flickered her fingers on Marco’s elbow. ‘Aw you gonna miss me?’ she cooed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll Christmas cuddle with you on Saturday. But I know,’ she added then, pouting with him. ‘But this was the only night Connie was free before he leaves over Christmas. I’m giving you all love with cookies.’ To illustrate this she took one for herself and chewed it down with a pleased moan.

The next moment a crashing sound reached them from the living room, followed by the collar bell singing as quick paws ran away from the deed she no doubt caused on purpose. Marco found the glass vase in pieces and flowers lying among them in the water, and he cursed and glared at the cat sitting on a chair in the other end of the room. Lady didn’t look the slightest bit regretful.

‘Bad Lady,’ Marco said as he marched over and picked her up. ‘I should leave you home now as punishment.’ But Lady only purred loudly against his chest, happy to receive physical attention, finally. Jean snorted from behind them.

Once the mess was cleaned up and all their baked goods were packed in boxes and some waiting in bags to be taken to Sun Garden, the three of them wrapped themselves up in warm coats and scarfs to brace against the whining winter outside. Marco offered to lend Jean a fluffy pair of earmuffs, but he declined and instead pulled the beanie down further over his ears.

Lady must have sensed where they were going because she didn’t hesitate or fuss at all about getting into the carrier. Marco usually let her walk on her own but in this cold he wanted to get to their destination as fast as possible. A freezing cat or a cat eager to explore the snow wasn’t going to help with that.

They said goodbye to Sasha below sparkling lights and glittering decorations, and then walked on in a quick pace not to get frozen in place by the cold. Jean’s shoulders  were drawn up and arms close along the sides to keep the warmth he had left inside. He froze much easier than Marco, but even Marco had to admit it was really chilly today. He puffed air out of his cold nose, white smoke shimmering before him. Jean’s nose was cherry red as Rudolph’s, but even though Marco chuckled a little he doubted he looked any better himself. At least it wasn’t very far to walk.

‘Hey, Marco!’ a familiar voice called as they passed a thrift store. Marco halted, swinging around and hoping to continue walking with just a hello. But Hanji quickly stepped up to them, drawing Marco into a conversation with, ‘Everything’s good?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, stomping a little on the spot to keep his body in motions. ‘We’re on our way to Sun Garden right now, going to eat cookies and play with the kids.’

‘Oh that’s so lovely! It’s such a sweet tradition you’ve created there.’ Hanji’s eyes slid over to Jean shivering behind Marco, and their face split in an even wider grin in response to his displeased scowl. ‘I don’t think we’ve met,’ they said and offered an eager hand to Jean, who took it with some caution. ‘I’m Hanji Zoë!’

‘Jean.’

‘Nice, nice!’ Hanji turned their eyes back to Marco, their glasses misting over with their excited breath. ‘I’m glad I caught you because we’re one man short for the Market preparations. We’re running out of time and no one seems up to it. You know Petra usually does it but it’s been so much with the kids and all this month – they’re doing some Christmas Play in school I think she said. Costumes that need sewing. Anyway, she’s up to her neck already, so I promised I’d fix it somehow. Would you have time?’

Marco stood quiet and let them talk until done, noticing Jean chattering his teeth in the cold, brows furrowed in clear annoyance while waiting. Marco wasn’t sure what to answer, to be honest. The familiar burn in his stomach said hello as a reminder what he should do, but it hadn’t developed any convincing skills yet. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, hesitating, lingering. ‘I’d have to check with my calendar first.’

‘Of course!’ Hanji nodded, still smiling wide. ‘I wasn’t expecting an answer right away, you have a lot to do as well! It’d be wonderful if you could make time for it of course – you’re greatly needed.’

Marco nodded too, but not as enthusiastic as them. The burn complained to get his attention. But he ignored it. ‘I’m pretty sure it will work,’ he said, forcing out a smile that almost even convinced himself.

‘Lovely! Call me when you know for sure, okay?’

‘Will do!’

They parted ways with a cheery goodbye, and Marco and Jean continued in their own direction. Jean gave Marco a look with raised eyebrows, asking without voicing it who the fuck that was.

‘Hanji’s works in the culture department,’ Marco explained. ‘They’re in a leading position when it comes to arrangements of parties and festivals including the whole town. Basically my boss when I help with that.’

‘Right,’ Jean said, urging on his steps to get away from this biting cold. ‘Seems like an interesting character.’

‘They’re were very enthusiastic about their job,’ Marco chuckled.

‘Good thing they’ve got you to clean up their messes,’ Jean remarked. Marco shot him a surprised look, and couldn’t help but feel offended.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asked, even though he didn’t want to hear Jean’s thoughts on the matter. It was enough with his own caused by his aching stomach.

Jean didn’t answer though, or at least not at first. He glared ahead at the snow, stomping warmth into his feet and legs. ‘Weren’t you going to hang out with Sasha and Mikasa on Saturday?’ he asked then, his voice pointy and eyes piercing Marco’s side.

‘That’s in the evening,’ Marco said, but avoided Jean’s gaze. ‘The market is during the day. I’ll have time for both.’

‘So why did you hesitate if you already knew you can?’

‘I just didn’t remember it right then…’

‘Sasha literally said it less than half an hour ago. Your memory isn’t that bad.’

‘What does it matter?’ Marco shot back. ‘I like doing this stuff, alright? So drop it.’

Jean still scowled, but his eyes fell to the ground as they moved on up the last slope to Sun Garden. Marco felt bad again; he wondered why he had such a short temper lately. His stomach answered with another burning sensation, but he strode on and ignored it with clenched teeth.

Mikasa greeted them in the doorway, the silver of her earrings and black dress shimmering magically. It was elegant, as was he hairdo, and the thin red scarf swung around her slender neck drifted behind her when she turned to show them inside.

‘Wow, you look great,’ Jean blurted; a bit nervous he turned to Marco. ‘Is this a fancy dinner?’ he asked, the uncertainty flashing by in his eyes despite the wry smile. ‘Because I didn’t exactly dress for that.’

‘What, you think I have?’ Marco retorted with a laugh and gestured to his Christmas sweater.

Jean’s face flushed slightly in embarrassment, though Marco wasn’t sure exactly why. ‘W–well at least your _fits /em >,’ Jean managed to say finally. Marco could almost see how his inner voice cursed at himself._

‘You look fine, Jean,’ he reassured, placing a hand on Jean’s shoulder. ‘That’s just her style. Remember we’re with children here. How fancy can it get?’

Jean’s smirk turned more genuine when they saw Eren in the next room, wearing an apron messy with colours and paint from brushes being waved enthusiastically in the air by the surrounding children. ‘I said “on the paper”!’ Eren was saying right then, shooing away the closest brush and steered it back downwards to the table they were sitting by.

‘You need a Christmas tree on your clothes too,’ the boy said matter-of-factly. ‘Like, Marco. Look! He has the right clothes.’ A messy finger pointed at them when they entered.

‘Kitty!’ another choir of children exclaimed, leaving their toys to rush towards the newly arrived. Eren took this chance to slip away to get changed, and when he returned he matched Mikasa ridiculously well; glittering and elegant, and eyeliner as spot on as hers.

Jean’s stare soon turned into a glare he directed towards Marco. ‘What the fuck happened to this not being a fancy dinner?’ he hissed.

‘You said a bad word!’ a child gasped, and another pointed towards the swearing jar standing on the windowsill behind them. Jean scowled but they wouldn’t let it be, so with a sigh he searched his jeans pocket and found a few coins he let fall into the jar. Then he returned his focus to Marco. ‘They’re dressed as models posing for a fashion magazine while I have Rudolph with sunglasses on my chest!’

‘Don’t be mean to my sweaters,’ Marco pouted. Jean glared harder. ‘Jean relax. No one else cares. Now let’s get started on this gingerbread house.’

The room they were gathered in was the dining hall, decorated with candles and Christmas paper artworks done by the kids. The fireplace crackled in a homey, nice way, spreading warmth and light over the tables. Lady enjoyed herself among the children, pleased to have all the attention a queen as herself deserved. Her purring was so loud Marco was able to hear it from where he sat.

The children’s patience with building the houses didn’t last long; in the end Jean and Marco did most of the work together with a few brave young souls watching them with stars in their eyes. One five-year-old girl sat with them the whole time, drawing pictures of how she thought the houses should look and showing them with shameless pride.

‘How do you know each other?’ she asked suddenly, curious and with a tone that suggested this was as wondrous as asking about a dragon.

‘Well,’ Marco said, leaning closer with his elbows resting on his knees. ‘Jean is one of my best friends, and we met when he moved into the attic in my house.’

Through the corner of his eye, Marco noticed how Jean’s gaze shot to him in surprise, blinking. Was it really news to him? Marco glanced at him in an attempt to meet his eyes, but Jean looked away again before he’d been caught. His face was back to normal, but his hands fidgeted with the remaining pieces of gingerbread.

‘Why did he move into the attic?’ the small girl went on, focus on her drawing. She showed no sign of having sensed any strange tension hanging over them. And it wasn’t really there, either, Marco realised. It was just something about the way Jean kept glancing his way, but not straight into his eyes.

Since Jean didn’t answer that himself, Marco continued. ‘Because he needed somewhere to live while he works here,’ he said and the girl nodded. Answer accepted.

*

The wind had ceased when they walked back home later that evening. Snow sparkled in the darkness and the cold wasn’t as biting as before. It was nice. Calm and still. Lady meowed from the carrier, but it wasn’t to complain; she wanted to make sure they knew she was there.

‘I’ll miss you a lot when you go home,’ Marco said then, turning his face towards Jean.

Jean burrowed into his scarf, but Marco could still see his rosy cheeks. ‘It’s just for like a week.’

‘ _Sixteen days_ ,’ Marco corrected. ‘That’s more than two weeks. I’m so used to having you close now. It’ll be strange.’ They continued along the snowy street, the faint sound of music sailing between the houses. ‘I bet Trost is really nice during the Holidays too but I’d love for you to see Jinae. From Midwinter to New Years is incredible.’

Jean’s expression was soft. ‘I believe you,’ he said; after some more thought he added, ‘Maybe next year.’

‘I’ll look forward to that.’ Marco smiled wide and felt a nice warmth in his chest when Jean responded with his own small one.

They walked on in silence for a few more minutes before Jean broke it again. ‘Did you mean what you said?’ he asked, voice sudden and direct. Marco raised an eyebrow in question; Jean only sent him a glance before explaining. ‘About me being one of your best friends.’

Marco’s steps slowed a little as he eyed Jean. ‘Of course I meant it,’ he said. ‘Why would I say so otherwise?’

Jean shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Because kids like to hear that stuff? And you were there with me so…’

‘It never crossed your mind that the reason I am here with you and spend so much time with you is because you’re important to me?’

‘You spend time with everyone!’ Jean argued, the defensiveness and embarrassment mixing on his face and in the tense gestures. ‘Look, sorry I asked. It’s just not that easy to read you. I thought you might still be taking pity on me.’

‘Jean.’ Marco stopped and turned them face to face to each other by holding his free hand on Jean’s shoulder. ‘I never took pity on you,’ he said, catching Jean’s reluctant eyes. ‘Sure, to begin with I wasn’t entirely certain why I tried so hard to be nice to you because you were kind of an ass. But that’s long ago, before we were friends. And I became your friend because I enjoyed being with you.’

‘Or you were too nice for your own good,’ Jean muttered back. He kicked at the snow, gaze fallen away from Marco’s again and brows furrowed in this more than familiar expression. But there was also a small smile hiding in the curve of his lips.

‘Never been happier about it, in that case.’

Marco could have sworn that the frosty pink in Jean’s cheeks deepened a few shades at that, and his flustered mumbling only added to the impression. ‘Don’t be so sappy, Marco…’

Marco laughed and continued the walk with light steps. Jean followed after, but he remained silent, hands pushed into the pockets of his coat and nose buried in the scarf. Marco let it be for a while, but then voiced a long ‘Soooo…?’ drawing the vowel out as his smile stretched.

Jean scowled up at him. ‘“So”, what?’

‘So, am I one of your best friends too?’

Jean snorted, but there was a crooked smile peeking out above the woven scarf. ‘“One of” he says,’ Jean mumbled, but still loud enough for Marco to hear. He nudged his elbow into Marco’s; the fondness in his eyes said what the words didn’t.

Marco chuckled with the smile and bumped Jean’s side with his own elbow in reply. ‘Speaking of that,’ he then added, earning a curious look from Jean. ‘What kind of tune do you want for the bookshop bell?’


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohh boy this chapter is almost 3 months late, and I'm very sorry about such a long wait. Life has been difficult lately, but I hope to update more often again now! 
> 
> This is a fluff fic most of all, but I want to warn for mentions of depression in this chapter, just in case. <3
> 
> I really hope you'll enjoy the read, and as always I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
>  
> 
> My [tumblr](http://emelianss.tumblr.com) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/emelianss).

Jean came back sooner than expected. Forty minutes from midnight on New Year’s Eve, Marco was called from the loud chanting in his apartment to the front door downstairs, curious and bewildered about who it may be. When he found Jean standing on the other side, cheeks and nose winter-bitten and a crooked smile stretching his lips to one side, Marco gaped in disbelief.

‘What are you doing here?’ he blurted out, his tone maybe a little harsh judging by the uncertainty flashing by over Jean’s face. He quickly shook it off and tried again. ‘I mean… you weren’t supposed to come for another few days. What changed your mind?’

Marco glanced down at the bags standing by the foot of the steps, guessing they were the reason Jean had used the doorbell instead of trying to carry it all up to the attic himself. Jean followed his eyes to the heavy baggage. ‘Ah yeah… mum sent some stuff with me that she insisted I need here,’ he said with an eye-roll, but his expression was otherwise fond. ‘And… also a few things for you.’

‘Me?’ Marco repeated. He couldn’t help the curious excitement that crept into his voice and pose.

Jean chuckled. ‘You really are like a child, you know that?’ he said, the small smile widening enough to show his dimples briefly. ‘It’s nothing special. She just likes to give away stuff.’

Marco pulled a silly grimace in response. ‘How did you even get here?’

‘Well…’ Jean sucked on the word for a moment extra. ‘There weren’t any trains or buses going today so… I found someone who was driving here by car.’

‘You hitchhiked with four bags from Trost on New Year’s Eve?’

‘I wasn’t waiting by the side of the road, if that’s what you’re suggesting,’ Jean retorted. ‘No. Mum knows them, and they actually offered earlier in the week to take me along if I wanted. But I had a party to go to, with friends… so I declined.’

Marco studied his face in silence, before saying, ‘And then you changed your mind.’

Jean shrugged, eyes fixated on the keypad rather than Marco. ‘The party wasn’t much fun anyway, so…’ His voice trailed off, weight shifting from one foot to the other.

‘Well this party just got better,’ Marco smiled and stepped out to pull Jean into a hug. He was slow in case Jean would want to back away, but Jean only took a moment before he wrapped his own arms around Marco’s back, squeezing tightly. ‘I missed you,’ Marco whispered with his cheek pressed to Jean’s cold ear, smiling wide. ‘Welcome back!’

Jean mumbled something into Marco’s shoulder that he assumed was agreement, before they parted again.

‘Let’s get these bags up to the attic and then I’ll get my jacket,’ Marco said, skipping down to the ground to grab two of them. The wind blew past, and he shivered in the cold while hurrying back inside.

‘Wait, you don’t have to,’ Jean said as he followed behind him up the stairs. ‘You shouldn’t leave the party—’

‘Nah, it’s alright,’ Marco reassured with a chuckle. ‘They’re just screaming about those games they’re playing anyway. And I want to show you something.’

A while later, after Marco told his friends he was going out now and Lady had properly welcomed Jean back, they walked down the street through the snow. Christmassy decorations still hang between roofs and trees, sparkling lights and winter plants decorated with red ribbons. The only thing missing from a cosy feeling was a soft snowfall rather than the icy wind.

‘Okay but who on earth did you know who was going here today?’ Marco had to ask, lips and eyebrow quirking up in curiosity. A gust of wind blew through them, cold air scratching at the exposed skin of their faces, and Marco burrowed deeper into the scarf to protect himself against it. A hot bath or shower sounded like a very good idea after this.

Jean shrugged, his grimace giving away how much he didn’t enjoy the weather either. ‘It’s this guy who delivers stuff to mum’s shop, one of them I mean. Specialists. I guess the Source makes this place really good for charging stuff with energy.’

‘I didn’t know your mum has a shop? I thought she was a therapist?’

‘Oh yeah, I guess I’ve never mentioned that.’ Jean nodded. ‘She works part-time only; the rest of the time she’s in her cousin’s magic shop.’

‘Oh, that’s really cool!’

‘I guess,’ Jean agreed with his lopsided smile.

Marco led them a few streets uphill, finally stopping on a square that opened up on one side to a nice view over the parts of town spreading out below. Cheers travelled easily through the earlier silence, and now when they were close enough to see the assembled crowd their joined voices were loud and clear as they began counting down to midnight.

‘I'm guessing you're used to the grandness of fireworks in a big city,’ Marco hummed close to Jean’s ear as they leaned against the balustrade running along this edge of the square. ‘But this is really pretty too.’

Jean sent him a warm smile, right as the first one shot into the air. ‘I believe you.’

So many years had started with Marco silently hoping that _this time_ things would get better, this would be the year he’d struggled to get to for so long. The past one had been the best in a long time, but he’d still felt an unwelcomed sadness looming over him the past days the closer to tonight he came. Now, standing there, his shoulder brushing Jean’s while they watched the exploding colours raining over the sky and all the loud _Happy New Year_ ’s ringing in the air, a warmth and certainty spread in his chest, promising the coming one would be even better. Maybe it was silly to be so happy about Jean coming back already tonight, but Marco didn’t care. Not when he smiled wide, truly feeling good, and Jean was smiling back.

*

January in Jinae meant drifts of snow and high heaps in the corners to where it had been cleared from the roads for the cars to get through. When Marco was little he and Ymir used to build forts and dig tunnels and caves in the one closest to home, but now he was content with climbing up on the top and throw snowballs down at Jean until he grumbled and joined him up there.

The temperature dropped to deep winter cold, and each night the canals froze over. Early in the morning the defrosting spells slid along the water, spreading the magic along the surfaces to melt it away before the morning traffic started. This was especially important in the canal area, though of course it still happened that people got late for work because a problem had arisen with the defrosting.

Most times when Marco wanted to go outside Jean gave him the most unwilling glare, with gloves, a scarf and three layers of sweaters on, all a mix of things he’d borrowed from Marco as well as what his mother had urged him to take with him. To convince him to follow outside then wasn’t the easiest task, but a promise of hot chocolate and blanket burritos on the couch afterwards usually was a good step on the way.

They walked over salted roads, careful not to slip on the patches with less of it, and felt the crunch of snow beneath their feet. People scraped their car’s windshields and shovelled snow from the driveway, and snow glistened on the rooftops while the icicles hanging from them sparkled in the sunlight.

Jean kept close to Marco’s side whenever they took walks, shivering and scowling miserably at the cold. He wasn’t a physical person, but Marco had noticed he kept drawing closer, and when Marco hugged him around the shoulders to squeeze some warmth into his freezing being, Jean showed no sign of being bothered by it. It was even more apparent in comparison to how he still tried to avoid Sasha hanging on his arm, and especially the distance he kept between himself and Mikasa, even though Marco could clearly see admiration in his eyes when he glanced at her so it wasn’t because he didn’t like her. And Mikasa too played her part of that distance-making; like with Jean, it took time to get her close. She rarely hugged anyone outside of her closest family. It was a privilege Marco was honoured to have, and a similar warmth crackled within him from how Jean slowly let him into his personal space too. There was something special about being close with people like that, like they had watched and considered you and then finally thought that _Yes. Yes you’re good, I like having you close_. It made Marco smile every time, the affection bubbling in his chest.

But all wasn’t perfect. With a looming feeling Marco sensed the shift in his mood creep up on him, seeping into every crack and expanding them further. He had ended up saying no to Hanji about the Midwinter Market; he hadn’t liked Jean’s tone and didn’t think he was right in what he said, but behind the harsh words lay a truth Marco was well aware of himself. And he had to listen when his own body protested. He kept busy to help himself feel better, not make it worse.

It was hard, though. It had started as a way keep his focus away from bad thoughts, and then… well, truth be told he was afraid. He was afraid that if he loosened the reins over how he spent his time, those bad thoughts would find their way back with no hindrance. Of course, sometimes they did so anyway. But he had learned well to focus on other things and ignoring the sadness, pushing it away.

And it wasn’t only worry that kept him going. He enjoyed staying active too, really did. The bookshop, the festivals -- all the work and seeing the results made him happy. He didn’t want to risk ruining that by stepping back and slowing down.

Whether he wanted to or not, though, he found himself in a lull. He worked his shifts during the days, but the waves of customers the holidays had brought were now long gone and in their absence came whispering thoughts of failure. To begin with it was alright, even nice for a change. A well-deserved rest after all the stress. But it didn’t take long until Marco became restless; he started staying in the shop longer because he had nothing to do at home, searching for more things to get done, to prepare for the next day. Chatting with Mina worked as a nice distraction too, and she was good at coming up with ideas to attract more customers again. But too soon Marco found himself mindlessly wandering around in his rooms the hours he was free, the whispers louder with each day he spent alone. He knew it wasn’t really his fault that people didn’t buy as much now, but it was hard to remember that when he had nothing to take his mind of those thoughts.

Usually he would have spent the time with friends. But Mikasa was so busy with her Master’s studies she barely spent any time in Jinae and only at the university in Shiganshina. Sasha had gotten another part-time job in the restaurant she had applied to for years, and so she didn't have much time to hang out other than short chats when Marco visited Sina’s Coffee. And Jean had suddenly gotten a lot more to do after the Christmas break; it could take until late evening before he came home. Then he was too tired to be social for very long, and Marco didn’t want to ask him to stay when his eyes kept closing where he sat on the couch.

So Marco tried to occupy himself on his own. He brought out the old notebook from his teens and leafed through it, a brief thought of continuing it flashing by before it was replaced by the looming greyness. He picked books from the overflowing bookshelves to read, but they ended up closed beside him on the bed while he stared at the walls. He even thought about calling Hanji and asking them if they needed help with any arrangements, but Valentine’s Day was still weeks away. And he knew they didn’t really need his help anyway.

It was a familiar pattern, a reflection of this time last year, and the years before that. Finding himself there again tasted bitter in his stomach. He thought he was better. He was so sure he’d gotten past this, and yet his fear rang true. He hadn’t fought enough.

Leaving bed became harder, even when he had work. Now it was a Saturday, and Mina had the shift for the few hours the bookshop was open, so he simply didn’t have any reason to get up. Instead he lay there wrapped in the Christmassy patchwork quilt he’d received from Rosie and grandma, nose buried in Lady’s soft fur, feeling lonely and miserable and bitter at himself for how easily he’d fallen back into this. For no reason. His life was good. He wasn’t actually alone. So why did this keep happening? _Why?_

The doorbell rang once before Jean let himself in with the key Marco had borrowed him, calling for Marco but receiving no reply. He continued to smash around loudly as he kicked off his boots and emptied what sounded like a whole sack of stuff on the couch and TV table. He was talking as he moved through the apartment, his steps leading him towards the bedroom. ‘I bought this new game,’ he was saying, ‘and I’m _dying_ to play it. Is it alright? You can come watch.’ Then he stopped in the doorway, giving Marco a concerned frown. ‘Are you ill?’

Marco peered at him with half his face hidden in the pillow and blankets wrapped all the way up to his cheeks. He nodded slowly in reply to the first part, which deepened Jean’s frown. ‘I’m fine,’ he added then. ‘Just tired.’

‘Oh well, you just have to watch. No need for thinking or anything.’ Jean flashed him a smirk before turning back into the kitchen, Lady quick to follow him while meowing in greeting. ‘You coming?’

Part of Marco hated that he depended so much on others being close to feel better. But as he sat there on the couch, watching Jean flail around the gameplay, listening to him cursing and shouting in triumph, Marco found himself smiling despite everything. And soon enough he’d forgotten why he even was so down earlier. Everything was fine after all.

Jean’s work calmed down after that, the schedule falling back to normal. He still didn’t show up at Marco’s door, though, maybe because he worried he’d been bothersome barging in the weekend before. But when Marco made sure to invite him again (‘You did get the key for a reason, you know’) and mentioned that his own afternoons also were very empty, Jean immediately started planning all the movie marathons they were to have.

‘What else am I supposed to do?’ he insisted when Marco raised an eyebrow at his enthusiasm. ‘I get home from work and just sit up there doing nothing. It’s driving me crazy. It’s too damn cold to take any walks and that TV isn’t working.’

‘Can’t you draw?’

Jean grumbled something about it being boring alone, but he didn’t meet Marco’s eyes. Marco shifted on the couch and tilted his head to the side, trying to catch Jean’s fleeting gaze.

‘You can borrow books from me if you want?’

Jean groaned even louder. ‘Okay fine, do I have to say it? I want to hang out with you, okay? There.’

Marco hummed with a pleased smile, Jean’s words warming in his chest. ‘Was that so hard?’ he asked and poked his toes into Jean’s knee teasingly. Jean swatted his foot away, scowling but with a slight smile breaking through it.

Lazy afternoons extended to cold frosty weekend mornings where Jean came down to just hang out together while letting their gazes follow the snow fall outside the windows. They made pancakes and toasts, and drank hot chocolate with too much sugar or black coffee with nothing sweet in it at all.

It became a familiar and unquestioned routine, and even though Jean had no idea how much he did by simply being there, it helped Marco focus on other things, or nothing at all. While watching movies and TV series the space between them lessened; Marco still made sure not to touch Jean without reason, but they were close enough to feel each other’s warmth and presence. It was nice. More than nice.

Some days when the apartment was extra cold, Marco again succeeded to make Jean wear his sweaters. Jean still looked at them with a very unimpressed expression, but took whichever Marco offered him, nuzzling into the colourful yarn with wordless grumbling.

‘It’s unacceptable that you don’t have your own, Jean,’ Marco pointed out one time, earning a glare in reply.

‘I can borrow yours, what’s the big deal?’

‘You just say that because you don’t want to buy one yourself.’ Marco laughed at Jean’s muttered defence, and then added with wiggling eyebrows, ‘Or could it be that you actually like them?’

Jean’s face was that of a very offended man, but he didn’t deny it. And when Marco smiled wide at him again, the corners of his lips quirked slightly upwards.

‘Shut up and watch the movie.’

*

To aunt Rosie’s great pleasure, they made a habit of visiting her as well. She served them cakes and cookies with warm beverages to fight the cold, fussing over Jean just as much as she did over Marco. It was nice and cosy at her place, and Jean’s smile was genuine when he expressed how much he enjoyed being there. Rosie beamed back and gave him an extra slice of the blueberry cake.

There was also another reason why Marco took Jean with him there; Rosie’s roof was perfect for stargazing, and Marco hadn’t forgotten Jean’s reaction to seeing a few faint stars back in August. So one evening he led Jean up the stairs towards the part of the roof that was flatter than the rest, and accessible from a window on the first floor. Marco spread out the thick blanket and seated himself on one end of it, gesturing for Jean to sit with him too. Jean didn’t look very content with this at first, but with a sigh he climbed up and out and sat down beside Marco.

It was still cold, of course, but it only took a few seconds before Rosie’s warming spell set in. ‘Yeah okay this is nicer,’ Jean admitted, moving over the warm blanket into a comfortable position.

Marco chuckled and leaned back to shut the window behind them not to let too much cold into the house. Then he sat back, lying down to gaze up at the dark sky above them. Stars were twinkling up there, bright and visible thanks to how little light were blocking the view; Rosie had turned it off inside, and the neighbours seemed to have gone to bed early. Being on the backside, the streetlamps weren’t visible either, and it gave a perfect view of the far away world stretching out above them.

Jean laid down beside him, smiling up at it. ‘Wow,’ he mumbled, chuckling a little. ‘It really is so much more visible here than in Trost.’

‘We should go outside town some night,’ Marco said. ‘I can borrow my parents’ car and drive us.’

‘That’d be nice,’ Jean grinned and turned his head to look at Marco. ‘Though this is nice too, of course. A bit weird though. All warm and cosy under my ass and then the cold bites in my face.’

Marco chuckled, his breaths shimmering in the cold.

‘You boys want the tea?’ Rosie asked behind them from the window, reaching out her hands with the two travel mugs. Marco stretched and took them with a smile, and they both thanked in union. Rosie smiled back before closing the window again and returned to the other rooms downstairs.

They lay there for a while, pointing out constellations and making up their own for all the stars they didn’t know any real ones for. The excitement in Jean’s laugh was almost childlike, the smile never leaving his face while they stared up at the sparkling beyond.

Once they came in again, they kicked snow off their booths on the doormat placed below the window in preparation for their return inside, then carried them back down to the front door before joining Rosie in the living room.

They sat by the fireplace, crackling flames dancing within their home and spreading the warmth in the room. Jean wriggled his frozen toes in an attempt to melt them back into function, but without complaint. The soft smile was still there together with his rosy cheeks, and Marco felt very pleased with his reaction. Then Rosie called from the couch, holding up another photo album for Jean to see, and his soft expression cracked into a gleeful smirk as he left Marco by the fire.

Rosie had a tradition of showing all her pictures of baby Marco to his friends, and Jean was more than eager to see anything that was shown to him. By now they were actually far past the baby years, and the albums Rosie placed on the table no doubt held remains of his early teens.

Marco rolled his eyes. ‘Can’t wait for when I visit your mum and ask her to show me all her favourite pictures of baby Jean starting high school,’ he said.

Jean shot him a look. ‘That isn’t gonna happen.’

‘Oh yeah? Why not? You’re afraid I will see you weren’t as cute as me?’ Marco gave him a wicked grin, and Jean glared harder. ‘Aw, were you a grumpy baby too? Baby Grump.’

‘Be nice, Marco,’ Rosie reprimanded him, but she too was smiling.

Marco pouted. ‘Not my fault not everyone can be as adorable sunshine as I was.’

‘Well he isn’t lying.’

Jean’s smile was dangerous and playful at the same time, his eyes like threats of lightning in a stormy sky, but also the sun trying to break through behind the clouds. Grinning, Marco flopped down beside him on the couch.  He swung his arm around Jean’s shoulders, pulling them closer together. ‘I’m sure you were a precious baby,’ Marco said, and Jean cracked his own smile. ‘All grumpy with cake covering your rosy cheeks.’

Jean shook his head and shoved his elbow gently into Marco’s side; Marco chuckled and brushed his hand over the side of Jean’s head, the blond soft hair sliding over the pads of fingers, before removing his arm again.

He actually didn’t mind Jean seeing these pictures. It was amusing to see his smirks and half-genuine “aww”s over all the ridiculous expressions Rosie had managed to capture of Marco through the years. Many of them were over-enthusiastic smiles, or gentle smiles, or excited ones, eyes shining and dimples deep while those around him only looked half as entertained. There were pictures of Sasha and Mikasa too, the trio pulling grimaces or dressing up in silly costumes and makeup. Jean’s laugh was warm at the sight of them at 14, wearing long skirts and colourful hats that had been out of fashion long before they were even born. Mikasa glared into the camera while Sasha hung on her shoulder with an overdramatic, ugly crying-face, lipstick smeared on her chin. Marco stood beside them, pouting with red lips and eyelashes fluttering mid-blink, revealing the horrendous mix of eyeshadow on his eyelids. And then on the next picture they were all laughing, hats almost falling off their heads, shining and happy like they didn’t have a single worry in the world.

Jean looked over at Marco, eyes gleaming with amusement. ‘You’re adorable, you know that?’

Marco shrugged. ‘What can I say? I’m photogenic.’

Shaking his head lightly with another chuckle, Jean returned his focus to the page.

After Marco’s sixteenth birthday had passed in the album, Marco sensed the shift in Rosie’s atmosphere. She still watched Jean turn the pages with tenderness in her eyes, but the difference was there for anyone who knew to look for it. She told him the stories behind the pictures but her voice was more quiet, and Marco wondered if Jean felt it too, how the laughter had died down beside him to mirror the lack of it in the pictures as well.

It was still there at times, of course. But in comparison to the years he’d been looking through the past weeks this was suddenly very… dull. Marco’s smiles weren’t as wide, and too many photos yelled about how he didn’t want to be in them. Marco hadn’t noticed before what effect his laughter had on every past page, and how strange it was when it was gone. Or maybe it was so clear to him only because he knew.

Jean’s brows knotted together, and Marco sensed his glances, but he didn’t say anything.

‘Well, that will do for now,’ Rosie said when the album reached its end and took it from Jean to return it to the shelf. Marco focused his eyes on Lady trying to cuddle with Cotton, despite kicks from soft paws.

Rosie disappeared into the kitchen only to return shortly after with a last cup of tea for them both before it was time to head home. She chatted cheerily and the nice atmosphere soon returned with smiles and light jokes. Still, when they went on their way Marco sensed a tension between them, and glancing at Jean he saw his brows were furrowed in thought. It took until they walked over the arch of the last small bridge before he said anything though.

‘Did I miss something earlier?’ he asked, searching eyes and tone giving away how cautious he was about asking this. He had been thinking about it, no doubt, mulling it over in his head and considering whether it was okay to voice his concerns. If he even was allowed to be concerned in the first place.

Marco hated avoiding the question when he was so genuinely careful about overstepping some invisible boundary. It wasn’t like he tip-toed around everything; usually he cracked jokes without thinking, sometimes things that would probably have been better unsaid. But when it really mattered, when he sensed something strange in the tension, something he didn’t understand, he took a step back. Jean was observant for sure, and it wasn’t the first time Marco had to swallow down the bad taste in his mouth as he forced a smile and shook his head.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well… I don’t know.’ Their steps faltered beside each other by the bus stop, the night cold and still around them. Jean fumbled with the hems of his jacket, frown deepening. ‘You two seemed to have a mental conversation there for a while. Did… um… did I say something wrong?’

‘What?’ Marco’s avoiding eyes snapped to him instantly, a horrible feeling for having caused such thoughts rising in his chest. ‘No! Jean, no. I’m sorry, I never meant for you to feel that way. It had nothing to do with you, don’t worry.’

Jean nodded, but the way he sucked on his lower lip and his eyes wandered in thought gave away that he wasn’t yet finished with the subject. ‘It had something to do with the pictures, though. Hadn’t it?’

Marco was silent for a while. He searched for words in the snow again, an easy explanation, an excuse, anything. Maybe the best solution was to tell the truth. That he didn’t feel so great during those years and he would prefer it if Jean didn’t see him like that. But that was also half the reason why those words were so hard to say; he didn’t want Jean to know. He didn’t want the questions about how he was feeling now, or that Jean would get worried the days Marco wasn’t right on top. He’d had enough of those looks, enough of the persistent questions asking if he’s _really sure_ he’s alright. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the concern -- damn, he was so grateful for how caring his family and closest friends were. And he knew he needed and wanted their support. But it was nice being with someone who didn’t know, too. Someone who wouldn’t look at him when he was feeling down and see the past years of depression, but just that he was having a random bad day that soon would pass.

Maybe he wouldn’t have cared a few weeks ago, but with how the past month had been he was extra sensitive about the subject, and he wanted desperately to avoid it.  ‘I just thought it was unnecessary and boring to show those pictures,’ he said finally. Not a total lie. ‘I mean, teen years weren’t exactly adorable. No need for you to see me with all the pimples.’

‘Dude, judging from what I saw I can assure you that I had more of that than you.’ Jean rubbed his chin with his hand as if in memory. ‘It wasn’t pretty.’

Despite everything, Marco couldn’t help but smile at that. ‘Well if you say so.’

‘Ugh yeah. Mum actually offered to conceal them with makeup for the prom night.’ Jean was silent for a moment, something falling over his downcast eyes. But it was brief, before he shuddered dramatically and was back on track. ‘Anyway, we should probably like… leave those pictures hidden, yeah? No teenage pictures. Only babies.’

‘That’s an agreement then,’ Marco nodded, and found a smirk stretching his lips to one side. ‘But considering you’ve seen pictures of me from the first half, it’s not more than right I get to see yours too.’

‘Oh damn it,’ Jean replied, but it was with a smile.

*

By the beginning of February, Marco was getting restless again. It crawled on his skin, prickled in his legs, urged in his mind that he had to do something. He didn’t know what, but _something_. Anything. When he looked through the uncomfortably empty calendar for the fifth time the same day, Jean gave him a questioning frown. ‘What’s with you?’ he asked, slight concern flashing by in his eyes. ‘You seem nervous.’

Marco tapped with his fingers on his thigh and let go of the page in the calendar, allowing it to fall back to February. ‘I’m just restless,’ he admitted and walked over to Jean on the couch. But he didn’t sit down. Eyes searched over shelves and furniture, trying to come up with something he could get done.

‘Why?’ Jean asked, his eyes back on the game he was playing. ‘Just sit down. Let’s watch a movie or something.’

With a deep sigh Marco did as told. Why was it so hard to do like Jean, to just relax and let time go by without constantly worrying about wasting it? He admitted to himself that being with Jean made it easier for him too, but in the long run it didn’t seem to work if all they did was sitting here. He sighed. ‘Can we go over to Sina’s?’ he asked. ‘I think Sasha’s working now.’

Jean looked ready to protest having to leave the couch, but when he turned and saw Marco’s expression whatever he had intended to say seemed to vanish from his mind. Instead he agreed and was up from his seat before Marco had time to say he could go alone if Jean didn’t want to.

The coffee shop was almost empty when they came inside, and Sasha made a dramatic dance towards them from behind the counter while thanking them for saving her from this tedious distress. They bought a cup of coffee each and settled by a table close to the front in case Sasha had to leave for any new guests.

The warm drinks were delicious even after such a brief moment outside. Sasha was amusing and chatty. Jean smiled. And Marco felt okay again, even if it was only to last for a while.

The next day the task of unpacking new books that had arrived was Marco’s while Mina was out in the store. A sense of nostalgia fell over him as he discovered one of the books was about magical beings; he hardly even thought about it before deciding to sit down and leaf through a copy of it, soon mesmerised by all the beautiful pictures of ancient mountains and deep forests. There were creatures that could be captured with a camera, and others that only were possible to see with your eyes if you were lucky enough to look at the right moment. Some seemed to be different for everyone, and Marco’s inner child let his imagination run away in all directions, searching and wondering and dreaming.

Mina brought him back to the present when she peeked inside the stockroom to tell him about how many customers had already been interested in buying things for Valentine’s Day. ‘We should make a larger table for gift ideas,’ she said with an eager smile, before quickly returning to her post, giving Marco a thumbs-up as she closed the door. Marco returned the gesture and continued unpacking the books with new inspiration.

When he came home, he opened his old notebook again. And when Jean visited after work, he was still reading his younger self’s discoveries. Childishly written perhaps, but the excitement he once had felt about this was clear behind the words. It made the slumbering longing for adventures stir within him.

Jean sat down on the couch beside him, a curious smile in his eyes. ‘Will you tell me more about it?’ he asked, and Marco did.

It became another custom of theirs. At first Marco didn’t notice the pattern, but as he started paying more attention to it he realised Jean always asked to hear more when Marco’s thoughts dragged him in a direction he didn’t want to go, but found hard to stop by himself. He wondered if Jean knew what he was doing, if he understood more than he had been told. Or if it was just his response when Marco grew extra quiet.  Maybe it was a bit of both. Maybe it didn’t matter which one it was. What mattered was that it worked.

Sometimes they sat on Marco’s bed instead of the couch, Jean stretched out on his stomach and doodling in his sketchbook with pens and papers scattered around him while Marco talked. Lady watched with curious eyes, her fluffy tail in Jean’s face and paws gently poking the paper.

Marco was curious too; he admired the sketchbooks Jean allowed him to see, chuckled at houses he recognised and asked questions about designs that must have come straight from Jean’s mind. Along with houses and floor plans, the pages were filled with climbing flowers and occasional faces, some of them resembling Marco’s reflection. Jean must have forgotten they were there because he flushed bright when he saw what page Marco had open.

‘Humans are harder to draw,’ he mumbled.

‘I think they look great,’ Marco replied. He returned his focus to the pages, realising suddenly that this was the only part of Jean’s art he’d seen yet. Jean visited Marco at work a lot, kept him company and even helped with the closing if he was there when it was time. But Marco wasn’t even sure what building Jean worked in. He only knew that Jean, as being one of those who crafted the finer details, spent most of his time in the workshop rather than at the house itself. What exactly those finer details were though, Marco couldn’t really tell. Glancing back at Jean he decided he would have to do something about that.

*

The building was far enough from the apartment for Jean to take the bus there in the morning, even though it was just a few stops. Sometimes he walked home in the afternoon, but Marco was aware that despite what Jean said, more often than not he chose the bus over the winter cold. Today was a nice day, chilly but bright, so Marco took the chance to be outside for a while.

When arriving, he stepped into the building cautiously. It wasn’t open for the public to just come and go, but he figured since he came to visit someone who worked there it should be alright. Still, as he had never been there before and didn’t know what Jean was doing or where exactly he was, he didn’t want to seem too casual. He found that wasn’t much of a risk anyway; as the doors leading further in were locked for outsiders, he could do nothing but wait in the small entrance room. Looking through the glass in the doors didn’t help him at all since the hall on the other side was empty.

Luckily for him, a familiar face showed up soon after. Connie Springer gave him a bright smile as greeting, slapping his shoulder in a friendly manner. They hadn’t spent much time together yet, especially not only the two of them, but the few times they had were enough for Marco to know he liked the guy. Plus, Sasha had good taste in people – mostly, at least – and with how much she had talked about Connie, Marco felt as if he already knew him too.

‘Hey man, what are you doing here?’ Connie asked.

‘Oh, I’m here to see Jean.’ Marco nodded towards the door Connie now was holding. ‘It’s the first time though so I have no idea where to go.’

‘Don’t worry, I got you.’

Following Connie’s lead, Marco soon found himself in the noisy working area, various different machines filling the space with noise. Connie gestures to his own ear defenders that he was putting on, and then fetched an extra pair from a shelf before offering them to Marco.

‘This way!’ Connie shouted, his voice distant through the protection.

They passed the worst of the noise into another part, sawdust and smells of wood swirling in the air. While Marco had found it a bit too much at the beginning, it felt less so as his senses got used to the place.

The volume wasn’t as loud in the room where they found Jean. He stood bent over a worktable, ear defenders hanging around his neck and hands holding the tools to the wooden piece lying over it. His face was set in a concentrated scowl, and although Marco couldn't see the crease between his sharp brows in this profile angel of him, the expression was familiar enough to imagine the rest.

‘Hey, Jean!’ Connie yelled as they came closer. ‘You’ve got a visitor!’

Jean’s attention snapped away from the work at hand and found Marco with surprise painted bright in his expression. ‘Marco! What… what are you doing here?’ Sudden worry rushed over his face. ‘Has something happened?’

‘Oh no, everything’s fine,’ Marco hurried to say, smiling. But he felt a little bad that Jean thought the only reason he would come here was if he had bad news to deliver. _Still_ , a reasonable voice reminded him, _this isn’t like the bookshop. It’s not really open for visitors._ And that was probably why Jean still seemed uncertain, his body a little tense as if still waiting for Marco to tell him something that couldn’t wait until after work. ‘I just wanted to visit,’ Marco continued, watching Jean’s frown shift but not disappear. Marco glanced away, his eyes finding the wood lying on Jean’s table with the tools currently resting on top of the carved patterns. He didn’t really see much of it from this distance, but it looked very precise. ‘I just realised I’ve never seen what you do.’

‘Oh!’ Jean moved a little to the side, tilting his body in a more inviting posture, wiping his hands on the thighs of his trousers. His own eyes darted back to his work before finding Marco’s again.

Marco stepped closer. ‘This is yours, right?’ he asked, even though he’d already seen Jean work on it when he came inside. Standing right in front of it, Marco now better saw the curving shape of the wood, and the beginning of carved lines forming a swirling pattern in it. ‘Is it okay that I look?’

‘Oh sure, it’s just … I haven’t really done much on this yet it’s not done…uh, wait…’ Jean beckoned to him to follow, just as Connie squeezed his shoulder in goodbye before returning to his own tasks.

Jean didn’t go far; close to his table where big shelves filled with wood pieces meant to be joined together into various things, some already close enough to their final state for Marco to be able to tell what those were. He saw window frames, cupboard doors, backs and armrests for chairs, and numerous different furniture legs. Jean moved around some stuff before pulling out specific things for viewing, explaining as he did what they were for.

‘These are spindles for the stairs inside,’ he was saying now, holding up a few individual pieces. They curved smoothly, flowers and leaves climbing up along them in incredible detail, the carvings given even more life by small flecks of colour carefully applied to the wood. ‘They want this nature feel going on inside so I guess that’s why they liked my portfolio,’ Jean continued. ‘I’ve done a lot of flowery stuff because Mum’s apartment is full of them so…’ He exhaled a light chuckle. ‘It always came easily to me.’

‘Wow.’ It was all Marco managed get out as his fingers trailed along one of them. ‘Jean this is incredible. You’re so talented, I… I mean I knew that you’re good but… _wow_. I understand why you got the job.’ He remembered Amelia Reiss’ words about Jean from last summer; she didn’t like his attitude, but he knew his job well. And Marco clearly saw that too.

Jean’s ears turned bright red, but his smile was wide and satisfied as he drank up every word of praise Marco was ready to give. He continued along the shelf showing other things he also had carved and painted, and Marco was just as amazed over those as the first one.

‘I know it’s kind of far off yet, considering I have to get rich first,’ Marco started as they turned back towards the exit a while later. ‘But can I hire you now for the project of designing and building the house I’ll grow old in?’ He laughed a little at his own words, but he meant what he said and he wanted Jean to know that.

‘Be careful, Bodt, or I might give you a contract to sign and hold you to that,’ Jean smirked. ‘I guess since it will take a while at least you’ll have time to figure out exactly how you want it,’ he then said, leaning against the door instead of unlocking it for Marco right away. ‘And I can get a proper education before you assign me the honourable responsibility of helping you bring it to life.’

Marco thought to himself that he had faith in Jean whether or not he attended university first, but he didn't want to make it seem as if he didn't believe it could teach Jean anything worth knowing. So he agreed with a grin, and after suggesting pizza for dinner Jean opened the door to let him out.

*

The snow still lay white on the roofs by the middle of February, though on the ground it was mixed with grey dirt. More snow would no doubt fall before winter was over, but for now they fought off the depressing sight by dressing the town in bright, happy colours; Valentine’s Day might have been meant for lovers, but _love_ was so much more than just romance.

Lines hung across the streets between the buildings, plastic hearts and stars fluttering in the wind together with still remaining light strings. The shop windows were decorated in similar ways, and people on the streets carried chocolate boxes with pretty ribbons and cards as well as flowers in the colours of the rainbow. Balloons floated along with excited children talking about the Valentine’s Mail they’d done in school that day and sent on their way. The enchanted letters flapped through the air like disoriented birds, crashing into the wrong windows and falling with the wind in the opposite direction from where they were supposed to go. And yet, they had a tendency to find their way in the end.

When Marco’s shift for the day ended he left the shop to be met by children chasing another stream of flying letters, shooing them from tree branches where they had been stuck and cheering when they flew on their way. Marco chuckled, skipped down the steps and freed a flapping paper airplane from the bush he passed towards his door.

The sky was grey but bright, and it was pretty warm for being this time of the year. It would have been nice with a walk, he thought, and a way to show Jean all the colours and cheering. But even if Jean wouldn’t scowl and refuse to be interested (like Marco had gotten the impression he would, the closer the date came) he still shouldn’t go outside today. The colds he had been spared during autumn and Christmas had now hit him with full force, and when Marco said goodnight to him yesterday he’d been a miserable sight rolled into his blankets on the bed, coughing like an old lady who’d smoked her entire life and now paid the price for it. Hoping he felt at least a little better today, Marco leapt up the stairs two at the time, and only stopped by his own apartment to get the gifts and an eager Lady on his trail up to the top floor.

He had a key for the attic just as Jean had one for the apartment, and after his knock had earned him approval, he unlocked the door. ‘Hey,’ he said as he peeked inside, earning a groan in reply. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fucking pathetic,’ came the grumble from the mountain of blankets and patchwork on the bed.

Marco smiled softly and closing the door behind him he walked over and sat down on the edge of the mattress. ‘It’s such a shame you’re sick today of all days,’ he said and put down the small vase on the floor by the foot of the bed before Jean saw it. ‘It’s so much fun outside.’

Lady attacked the stirring burrito, her fluffy tail disappearing under the sheets as she wormed herself into Jean’s embrace. ‘Oh I’ve heard it, alright,’ Jean grumbled from under the blankets. ‘Not a big fan.’

‘No?’ Marco smiled and after giving the burrito a gentle shove to make room for himself by the wall, he made an audible show of opening the candy box he’d brought with him. ‘Not a fan of chocolate either?’

Jean’s messy hair instantly shot out from his hiding place, just in time to see Marco put one of the heart-shaped sweets into his mouth. His smile widened at the obvious glint of interest in Jean’s eyes, and offered the box to him.

‘Chocolate is the only good part of this shit day,’ Jean declared as he untangled himself enough from the blankets to sit up and reach for the sweets. His eyes were still drowsy and face pale in contrast to the rosy nose, but at least he looked better than he’d done yesterday.

Marco laughed and nudged him with his foot. ‘Don’t be such a grump. It’s not that bad.’

Jean glared at him over the chocolate box. ‘Seeing lovey-dovey couples and romance ads everywhere isn’t exactly what I call fun. Sorry Marco, but yes, it’s _exactly_ that bad.’

Marco hummed a little. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t relate to that; he knew far too well how Jean felt. But he also knew it did no good to let such thoughts drag you down. ‘My mum calls it All Hearts’ Day,’ he said instead, watching for a reaction. Jean just gave him a half-amused frown. Marco took another chocolate heart from the box resting on the blankets between them. ‘It’s a nice thought though, don’t you think? Romantic love isn’t the only form of love; friends and family are equally important. It shouldn’t be just about romances.’

‘That sounds like something a forever single would say to cheer themselves up,’ Jean snorted. ‘And I have a hard time believing you’re one of us.’

Marco raised an eyebrow at him, deciding not to comment on the ‘us’-part. ‘Oh yeah?’ he said, leaning forward. ‘Why’s that?’

‘You’re gorgeous that’s why. Bet you’ve had tons of Valentines.’

A small smile tugged at Marco’s lips, but the words didn’t really make him as happy as he felt they should. He cast his eyes to the sheets beneath him. ‘It’s not all about appearance, you know…’

‘You’re nice too,’ Jean went on, almost too quickly. ‘Just look at you now, sitting here with me when you could be outside celebrating with actually likeable people.’

‘I think you’re likeable, though.’ Marco looked up again and met Jean’s stare. ‘More than likeable. I don’t just give away my time to anyone, despite what you might think. And anyway; whatever you say I still think so. It’s years since I had a Valentine the way you mean it, and I must say I’ve had much more fun with friends than I had then.’

Jean glowered at him without actually looking at his face; Marco wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t believe him or if he used the scowl to mask some other feeling he didn’t want to show. He tilted his head a little to the side to catch Jean’s eyes again, but Jean just huffed and sunk deeper into the pillows, arms crossed tightly over his chest. ‘That’s one time more than me, at least,’ he muttered eventually. ‘But I guess you’re right. I just never really had any close friends so I wouldn’t know. I usually try to pretend I don’t know what day it is. Would’ve worked pretty well here now if it weren’t for how loudly you people celebrate. My window was attacked by paper cards an hour ago. They weren’t for me though so they blew away after a while.’

‘Hm, yeah…’ Marco got up on his feet and walked over to the window. Outside on the street people were laughing and hugging friends they had stumbled into, and different children from earlier chased more cards that blew past.

‘The reception’s still dead, right? I haven’t received any calls or updates from the love lives of anyone back home. Not that I’m complaining.’

‘Yeah, it’s down,’ Marco answered without looking back at him. ‘Lots of magical energies in the air now, it’s always bound to happen around holidays.’

There was still a letter stuck against the window glass, and Marco opened it to send it on its way. But instead the letter swept inside, swirling in pirouettes through the room before it finally fell from the air down into Jean’s lap. Jean stared at it in surprise, eyes moving over it as if trying to read what it said even before opening it.

Marco shut the window again and turned around to watch, leaning against the back of the couch with his arms resting across his chest. Lady was curious too, nose sniffing on the pink envelope with big hearts on it, and then carefully stepping up on Jean’s knee to get closer.

Jean woke from his trance when she almost fell down between his bent legs, and changing position to make it easier for her to lie down in his lap, Jean opened the envelope with careful fingers. A folded card in the same colour fell out, and Marco couldn’t help but smile at how gently Jean treated the paper.

‘Guess one was for you anyway,’ Marco smiled and watched Jean open the card with shining eyes. ‘Who’s it from?’

‘It’s…’ The dorky grin spread wider as he reread whatever it said over and over again. Then he glanced up at Marco as he answered. ‘We were back at Sun Garden again two weeks ago or so, more to do there later on when spring comes around… anyway, it’s from one of the girls there.’ He laughed to himself, and some of the colour returned to his cheeks.

‘Oh?’ Marco sounded as he sat back on the bed, giving Jean a cheeky grin that went unnoticed. ‘You didn’t tell me you had something going on with one of them.’

It took a few moments before Marco’s words registered, but once they did Jean’s eyes snapped back up to him. ‘Oh no, it’s not–’ He laughed a little embarrassed and showed Marco the crayon drawing inside the card. ‘It’s one of the kids.’

 _Oh_. Marco burst out laughing and pressed a hand to his cheek. ‘Oh gosh, I’m sorry! Wow this is awkward.’ He chuckled as he read the short but sweet message and looked at the stick figures that pictured Jean, the girl and her best friend. His ears burned, but seeing Jean’s expression eased away the embarrassment. ‘You really did make an impression on them, huh?’ Marco said, the warmth in his chest spreading with the pride.

Jean’s cheeks flushed slightly pink and his eyes fell back to the card, but the small smile on his lips was fighting for allowance to grow bigger. ‘Yeah… Who would have thought?’

‘I’m not that surprised, to be honest. You’re hiding a very sweet person behind that mask you put on whenever you meet new people. But they saw through that even back in June.’

Jean didn’t reply to that other than staring harder at the card while the pink in his face deepened.

‘Speaking of gifts – what colour do you want?’ Marco picked up the thin vase with the lone rose from where he’d hid it by the foot of the bed. ‘I don’t have any red ones because they symbolise romance but if you _really_ want one I can go down to Petra and get it for you.’

Jean chuckled as he looked up. ‘It kinda loses the charm if it’s not meant as romantic from the giver.’

‘I’ll give you this then,’ Marco said with a wink and placed the vase in Jean’s hands. ‘Yellow for friendship. And the chocolate was for you as well.’

‘You’ve eaten like half of it.’

‘Had to make sure they were good.’

Jean snorted and shook his head, but it was with a smile. His eyes fell on the rose again and the grin softened. ‘I didn’t get anything for you,’ he said, voice unusually tender.

‘I really didn’t expect you to.’

‘Ha ha. Seriously, though, it’s not fair. I’ll come up with something.’

Marco frowned, shaking his head. ‘Jean, you don’t have to give me anything. That’s not why I do this.’

‘Well… thanks, then,’ Jean said, pausing for a moment before he added, ‘Still going to, though.’ Marco rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and Jean placed the vase and card on the nightstand before looking back at him again. ‘Do you give roses to all your friends?’

‘Well, I have a lot of friends but to the closer ones, yeah. I save the biggest ones for the best friends though.’

Jean glanced at the rose again. ‘This one is pretty big.’

‘Mhm. As are you,’ Marco hummed, noticing how Jean’s blush was getting more apparent with every word he said. ‘Am I embarrassing you with all this?’ he laughed, though while he joked he was also serious about the question. He didn’t want to make Jean uncomfortable.

‘No!’ Jean’s reply was quick, but followed by a hesitating silence. ‘Maybe…’ he admitted after a while, eyes and hands on Lady who purred in his lap. ‘A little.’

‘You want me to stop?’

‘N-no… I just… I’m not used to it.’ He glanced up to meet Marco’s eyes before looking back down at Lady again. ‘Having a friend like you.’

They let the silence rest over them for a moment, exchanging smiles and giving Lady the attention she demanded; she thought they had focused far too long on other things, and meowed loudly as she stretched out on her back over Jean’s legs. She stared at Marco too when he didn’t instantly rub her belly.

Marco chuckled at her affectionate purring in response to his petting, then glanced at the candy box still between them. ‘Are you gonna eat your chocolate or can I take another one?’

The change in Jean’s expression was instant; his eyes snapped up with a glare, hand snatching the box from the covers. ‘I take it back, you’re not nice. You’re faking it, giving things away to make us believe you’re the sweetest but it’s only a lie you use so you can both fool us and eat the sweets yourself.’ He put two hearts into his mouth at once. ‘These are _mine_.’

Marco laughed. ‘Aww come on! You got a cute card from Sun Garden, what did I get?’

‘I bet you got tons of cards from secret admirers,’ Jean said, in no way impressed by Marco’s argument. ‘And maybe not so secret ones as well. Not to mention all your friends -- except me because I’m an ass -- and your family. Aaaaand probably from every single person in this town because everyone loves you.’

‘Don’t exaggerate it,’ Marco replied with a snort.

Jean’s eyes zeroed in on him with a squint. ‘Are you claiming that I’m wrong on this? Ohh we’ll see about that! As soon as I’m well I’m going to go through your entire apartment and the bookshop to find every single card you’ve received. I’ll prove that I’m right!’

Marco chuckled. ‘You sound like Rosie.’

‘And Rosie’s never wrong!’

‘No but really, I’m not as popular as you think I am. Truly.’

‘Hm, I suppose that’s a good thing. What would you even do with all those cards? There wouldn’t be space for you to live in your own home anymore.’ Jean considered a moment. ‘Though you could use them as fuel in the fireplace next time we visit Rosie...’

‘Jean!’ Marco laughed, kicking his knee. ‘Don’t be rude. Is that what’s going to happen with my gifts to you too? I’ll see them billow out of the chimney?’

Jean shook his head, his face insulted at the mere suggestion. ‘No, I would never do that to your gifts! Those are special. I’ll save even the box when it’s empty,’ Jean said gesturing with the chocolate box. ‘Save it as a memory. The first Valentine’s Chocolate box I’ve ever received--’ The atmosphere fell with Jean’s tone, and he sighed when he realised what he’d done. He gave Marco a humourless smile. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’m not much fun today. Sorry.’

‘That’s okay.’

He sighed again, placing the box back between them to let Marco take another if he still wanted to. ‘But really now, how are you so unaffected by all this?’

For a moment Marco considered asking him to be more specific, but Jean’s sad frown changed his mind. He knew what Jean meant.

They hadn’t really talked about stuff like this, which Marco had thought was a very nice change from how other friends were so eager to make it the subject of discussion. He loved Sasha and Ymir, and they were right in thinking he wanted a romantic relationship, but their attempts to press out such feelings from him when he felt none usually only resulted in him feeling bad about it instead. Crushes came from nowhere sometimes, and he made friends easily. But for anything else he needed time, or at least that was what conclusion he had come to when trying to figure it out, and too often it seemed hard for people to understand that just seeing a nice-looking stranger wasn’t enough for him to suddenly feel any interest for them. Jean’s situation was probably different from Marco’s, but he knew how it felt to be sad and lonely.

So he sighed and told the truth, or at least what part was needed. ‘I used to worry so much about finding love and all that.’ Marco’s eyes trailed over the covers and then away towards the window. ‘But I realised it’s not _that_ important. Not worth crying over, even though sometimes that happens but… yeah. Maybe it’ll come and maybe it won’t – either case is okay.’

Jean stared at nothing in particular between them. ‘Wish I could feel that way.’

‘We’re all different,’ Marco said. ‘Don’t beat yourself up for feeling sad or wanting something you don’t have, but… try not to make it _everything_. You know? Happiness comes from many things, not just romantic love.’

‘I _know_. Usually I don’t care that much,’ Jean said grumpily, though something in the way he avoided Marco’s gaze revealed it wasn’t completely true. ‘But _this day_ just makes everything worse, it’s all rubbed in your face and no way to avoid it. It’s hard to shut out.’

‘Yeah, I’m well aware. I’m glad people here celebrate it differently. It’s like a big feast for family and friends and couples, celebrations for all kinds of love. It makes it easier, and even fun.’ He offered Jean a gentle smile before glancing up at the Mrs Potts clock hanging on the wall. Mikasa and Sasha were soon coming over to hang out for a few hours before the latter would meet Connie in the evening. ‘You want to come downstairs in twenty minutes and eat ice cream with me and the girls while making fun of bad movies?’

Something shifted in Jean’s expression, the grumpiness replaced by self-mockery. ‘I’m guessing it doesn’t include crying into said ice cream and feeling sorry for your lonely self?’

‘Well, we try to avoid that part but if you insist on bringing it with you at least you can get hugs of support.’

‘Sounds good.’

Marco’s smile widened. ‘Good.’ He looked at the shape of Lady who was moving under Jean’s blankets and purring warmly against his leg. ‘I guess she isn’t going anywhere now so take her with you when you come down, yeah?’

Putting another chocolate heart into his mouth and moving his leg to tease the cat, Jean nodded with his usual crooked smile. ‘Of course.’

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Ohhhh boy. 9 months. I'm so sorry for how long this has taken, and I really hope people are still interested in this fic after all this time. The past year has been a big year for me, with a lot of changes -- in the end, they were all for the better. But it did throw me out of my writing mode a lot. Plus, this chapter has given me a lot of trouble, which I hope isn't visible in the actual text (but if it is, I promise the next chapter will be better!). At least it's the longest one in the fic yet soooooo making up for the wait with a lot of words, yeah? No but really, I'm so relieved and happy to finally be able to post this. I hope you guys will enjoy it, and remember; even though the boys are sad sometimes, everything will be alright.
> 
> I hope to be back with regular updates again now :') I'll be moving in a month so I'll be busy a lot, but the next chapter is halfway written already so !!!!! cross your fingers and send me encouraging words! Seriously, feedback means so so so much. I'm terribly slow at replying, especially on the previous chapter (I will do it now, promise!), but everything makes me so happy and I love to hear how much this fic means. You remind me why I write it. Thank you. <3
> 
> My [tumblr](http://emelianss.tumblr.com) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/emelianss).

Jean wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here. It certainly wasn’t what he had planned for; he was going to work away from home for a year, earn some money and experience while figuring out his next step towards his dream school. He hadn’t even dared to hope to make any friends, just silently prayed at least someone at work would be okay with talking to him during the days. And if not, well, then he would find a way to manage through that. Even if it meant calling his mum every evening to fight the loneliness. After all, the only difference from before would be talking over the phone instead of face to face.

It did start that way. Even when he found his place in the work team, that familiar touch of home was a sorely needed comfort at the end of the day. Especially since the role he fell into in the group was the grumpy one who was hard to reach. He hadn't meant to act that way, but it was a route hard to break free from. He’d never been good at making friends.

But Connie Springer found things to joke about even when Jean had nothing to say. He was carefree and natural as if he didn’t at all notice the hostile shell Jean clothed himself in every morning. It took time before Jean let him past that exterior, but a few vague smirks in response to some jokes were enough for Connie to continue trying until they got there. Sasha becoming a mutual friend helped melt the remaining ice between them too, something Jean had never expected to happen.

Most people didn’t try talking to Jean except concerning work. But besides Connie there was also Reiner Braun, the guy Jean later found out Sasha had nicknamed ‘Muscle Man’ the first time she saw him. He talked loudly with everyone and if Jean glared at him, he only found it amusing. Connie and he got along well though, so if Jean wanted to eat lunch with Connie he was also stuck with Reiner. This meant listening to him over-sharing details about his relationship with Bertholdt Hoover, which was about the least interesting topic that ever left his mouth. Especially when Bert sat right beside him blushing and sweating, unintentionally encouraging him to make it even worse. Jean had been tired of it already the first day, and now he had endured over eight months of the crap. At least somewhere along the way he’d developed a better ability to ignore them. But he still preferred to eat his lunch in silence.

Muscle Man and The Giant, Sasha had said. When Jean asked what she had called him, she cackled and leaned over the counter table to ruffle through his long bangs. ‘Thunder Cloud,’ she replied with a wide smirk. Jean wasn’t sure if he should be offended or accept it as a fitting name.

He had no memory of ever making a friend like Sasha. The few he had were always tied to school or other circumstances where they _had to_ interact with each other for longer periods of time. Sasha worked in the coffee shop they ate lunch in sometimes, and of course it was Connie who spent most of the time chatting with her. If it weren’t for Marco, Sasha might never have bothered to pay Jean much attention. But nothing in the way she acted with him felt forced. She didn’t have to be his friend just because Marco had decided to be; Mikasa kept a natural distance between them, nodding in greeting if they met outside, talked when they were both at Marco’s, and then stopped at that.

Sasha on the other hand insisted on spending time with him even when Marco wasn’t around. As free-spoken and close as she had been the first time back in August when she took him home and lectured him on his summer fashion sense. It was the kind of friendship Jean wasn’t entirely sure how it had come to be, but was very grateful for having.

And then there was Marco. He knew how they had become friends, even though he sometimes still found it hard to believe it was real. But there were reminders of it everywhere; in the individual tune of the doorbell when Jean entered the bookshop; the now dried Valentine’s rose catching his gaze whenever it wandered around his room; Marco’s smiles, his attentiveness, his presence, his very existence. It might be hard to believe, but it was even harder to forget how much Marco cared when his affection was so clear in everything he did.

It had become a custom that Jean ate almost every dinner at Marco's. When Sasha’s two schedules worked better together, she was enthusiastic to join them too, drooling over the opportunity to use a big kitchen for her cooking. With her present it was loud and lots of laughter; without her calmer and softer.

Watching them now from his seat by the small kitchen table, Jean couldn’t help the ugly taste in his mouth. He’d struggled with the envy for months, knowing it was unfair of him to see Marco’s old friends as competition for his time and love. Marco always made sure he gave to all of them, and it wasn’t like Jean wanted to be his only friend. Being sociable and liked by so many were some of the many things that made Marco who he was, and Jean didn’t wish that away. On the contrary.

What scared him was not being enough to stay part of it.

There was something so natural in the way Sasha and Marco moved around each other, in how well she and Mikasa fit into the mould of Marco's very being. It came with being close for life; 20 years of inside jokes and friendly banter and working through any serious dispute that had arisen along that road. They knew each other inside and out. What caused joy and sadness, even though the latter wasn't often touched upon. At least not with Jean watching.

Jean wanted all of this so desperately; craved it like lungs for air. Stupid crush or not, he wanted to make Marco laugh. Wanted to see those dimples deepen, freckles dusted with a warm pink hue, bright smile beaming – and know it was thanks to him.

Of course, he'd made Marco laugh several times. Marco chuckled, or sniggered, or right out howled with laughter, tipping backwards on the couch and holding his arms around his stomach while tears filled his eyes.

But Jean was certain something was amiss when it was only the two of them. Like Marco was bored, waiting for Jean to leave. He was always proven wrong though. Yesterday when he decided not to go downstairs and disturb, Marco did what he always did when Jean didn’t show up by himself; called or came knocking on Jean's door. He didn't comment or ask why Jean hadn't come first. He talked about food or a movie on TV like it went without saying that Jean would have come sooner or later.

He was expected. He was wanted. He was one of Marco’s best friends. And yet there was something that kept nagging in the back of Jean’s mind. Something that fed his fear and refused to let him shake it away.

Part of it was his other feelings. Those hushed whispers in his chest that longed for more, that insisted on reminding him that the yellow rose also showed that Marco only saw him as a friend. But it wasn’t right to say ‘only’ though. Nothing about Marco’s friendship was _only_ something. It was everything. And to be fair, most days were alright. Being around Marco was enough to make Jean’s heart flutter in his chest, but it didn’t hurt. It was nice. It was what Jean wanted. Or at least as much as he dared to hope for.

So that wasn’t all that bothered him. He frowned to himself, averting his gaze from Sasha feeding Marco a spoon of the soup she’d poured her magic into a moment before. Instead he found Mikasa’s eyes watching _him_ from the other side of the table. Her face was unreadable, closed and thoughtful. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught him staring with envy at Marco being close to others; she never said anything, but it was embarrassing enough that she noticed.

Jean looked down at his sketchbook lying before him, trying to ignore the feeling of her piercing gaze. But then she spoke, and it was nothing about stupid crushes better left behind or how mopey self-pitying wasn't very attractive.

‘It’s a big accomplishment to make someone who’s often stressed and anxious feel relaxed and secure with only your presence,’ she said.

‘What?’ Jean’s eyes shot up to her again, frown deep. He looked between her and the other two a few times, their laughter too loud for them to hear this quiet exchange. It wasn't clear what she meant, but something about her knowing gaze told Jean enough. He glanced at Marco again. ‘You mean he _isn't_ that now?’

Mikasa didn't reply.

But her words echoed in Jean’s mind, and the following days and weeks he grew aware of the small signs he hadn't really cared to consider earlier. A bouncing leg under the table when they were all playing a board game. Fidgeting hands and fingers drumming on the counter in the shop. The extra paint added to his bright expression when talking to customers – not fake, but not all genuine either. It lacked the softness of the sleepy smile he cracked when Jean made a joke of the TV reporter at 11 in the evening after a long day. The way his eyes fluttered as he hummed and melted into the back of the couch and Jean's side, petting the purring cat and tilting his head just enough to touch Jean's shoulder.

He relaxed in similar ways with Sasha too, and Mikasa. But that wasn't the point – what mattered was he did it with _Jean_. When he was more quiet than usual, it wasn’t because he wanted Jean to leave. He was _comfortable,_ enough to let down a facade Jean hadn’t even realised he was wearing. And once Jean noticed that, he found himself acknowledging shifts and signs in Marco’s expression. They’d probably always been there to see if Jean hadn’t been so certain Marco was the embodiment of happiness that no troubling thought could touch. He could tell when Marco’s laughter was genuine and when he pretended everything was alright. Not to be dishonest, but because faking it might help himself feel it too.

With Marco’s soft snores puffing over his arm, blankets wrapped around them both and Lady spread over his lap, Jean thought about the photos Rosie had shown him. How Marco’s big smiles and hunt for camera attention had been replaced by the uncomfortable, tight expressions of someone wishing to be left outside the focus. Jean knew from personal experience how rough teenage years could be, but he sensed there was more than that in this case. He hadn’t asked though, and didn't plan to, either. If Marco wanted him to know he would tell him. For now Jean was content with knowing something he did was helping in some way, even if he didn’t understand how, or from what.

*

Ymir and Christa moved back to Jinae at the end of February. It was during those bleak, grey weeks between seasons, when winter still lingered with its cold fingers in the grass and spring wasn't yet awake enough to break through them. Jinae lay quiet, resting, still magical but not as vibrant as usual. The colours of Valentine's Day rained away, and the ground was more of a grey slush with hidden ice traps than the fairytale white fluff of earlier months. Jean’s mood matched the weather, and he knew Marco’s did too even if he tried to hide it most of the time. But the girls’ return cheered him up a lot.

They’d found a house on the outskirts of town not far from the lake, and no one was more delighted about this than their parents. Marco expressed his joy too, and Jean noticed how his humming increased around the time for his sister’s return. He hadn’t talked about it much but it was clear that he had missed having her close by.

The downside was that the girls now collected what things they had left in Marco’s apartment – meaning they had to say goodbye to the stacks of movies and games Jean had taken for granted to always be part of their afternoons. Marco tried not to smile too wide at Jean’s grumpy distress to see them go, but Jean still noticed it and sent him a betrayed glare.

The real problem was of course that almost all of Marco’s furniture was in fact Ymir and Christa’s. While they didn’t intend to take it all from him right away – or at all, in some cases, for they meant to buy new things – it did leave the apartment in a much emptier state.

‘I think I’ll have to take a trip to a furniture shop,’ Marco said where they sat on the couch, the old TV stand empty before them. All air had been blown out of them, and they sat like empty sacks not sure what to do. Jean saw in the corner of his eyes how Marc looked at him. ‘You wanna come with me when I do?’

‘Considering there is nothing to do here now, yes.’

Marco chuckled. ‘Was that really all the fun you had here?’ he asked. ‘The PlayStation?’

‘Well, no.’ Jean idly circled his fingers around Lady’s tail as she stepped over his lap in search for the perfect place to lie down. ‘But it was certainly a good source of entertainment.’

He could feel Marco’s eyes on him, and the smile in them. ‘Spring is almost here now, though. We can start spending more time outside soon.’

Jean shifted his gaze from the cat to the windows; outside the day was grey, a mix of snow and rain pouring down over the muddy ground and lashing the glass. He snorted. It would be quite a while more before he looked forward to taking any walks.

‘I can’t believe they took the TV too,’ he said instead, groaning as he let his head fall back against the couch cushions.

‘That was already decided on,’ Marco replied with a glance at him. ‘Didn’t know I would have you here by now. I barely used the TV before.’

‘Well, now we need a new one,’ Jean declared, only realising afterwards what he’d actually said. But he got no chance to correct himself.

‘Yeah, ugh.’ Marco scratched his chin. ‘I’m no good at brands and types though so you’ll have to choose. Or at least help with the options.’

Glancing uncertainly at him, Jean searched for a way to take back his previous words without making it obvious. Finally he settled for a simple, ‘But it’s your TV.’

‘And you’ll be using it just as much,’ Marco pointed out, voice casual and eyes moving over the walls as his mind considered something else entirely. ‘You basically live with me, anyway.’

Those simple words shouldn’t make Jean feel anything, but the now well-known butterflies in his stomach still took a wild flight around their cave. His ears burned. It had only gotten worse since Halloween, and despite his fight to stay above the water he found himself more and more below the surface, with no direction of what was up and down. It was crushing and exciting, all at the same time.

He averted his gaze from Marco, instead fumbling with a loose thread in the sweater he’d borrowed, hoping Marco wouldn't notice how it affected him.

‘Have you ever had an urge to just… cover the walls with ugly paintings?’ Marco asked, focus still on the empty room.

‘You mean snobby art? Not really.’

‘No, I mean painting yourself,’ Marco clarified, turning back towards Jean. ‘On the wall. Except I guess yours wouldn’t be ugly,’ he added with a chuckle.

A few days later Jean was met with a set of old clothes pushed into his arms as he entered, an excited Marco telling him to get changed. Jean raised an eyebrow in question, and Marco smiled wide. ‘Don’t want you to ruin your clothes with the paint,’ he said as if that would explain everything. ‘Come on!’

Seeing Marco’s miss-matched, already stained shirt and jeans, Jean remembered his musings from the other day. After changing into Marco’s bigger clothes, he then found the living room cleared of the furniture that had been left, the floor covered with old newspapers and the bucket of paint open in the middle. One wall was full of ugly faces and figures, along with a few hearts and stars. Before it stood Marco with a brush and childlike smile stretching from ear to ear. Jean’s heart jolted.

He had admitted to himself that he had a tendency of falling too hard, too fast, and then being left with the bleeding injuries of landing without anyone there to catch him. Marco eased his fall with his kindness, but also made it so much worse.

How long would Jean be able to keep this secret? What would happen if he told Marco the truth? Jean wasn’t sure how he knew this with such certainty, but Marco wouldn’t be able to brush such a thing away. He never wanted to hurt anyone, and Jean didn’t want to cause him the trouble of having to hurt _him_ by turning him down. Even if they somehow tried to move past it, those feelings would remain, chafing between them like a splinter festering in a wound until their only option was to tear away from each other. Jean couldn’t risk that.

So today as all other days, he hid those feelings away. He played along with Marco’s game, messed up the walls with silly portraits and then painted over them properly when they were too full to do anything more. Marco was so adorable like this, like a gleeful child, laughing and dancing around, and it was impossible not to be excited with him.

‘The attic is next,’ Marco later said where he lay on the floor, a big silly grin stretching across his face. ‘You can sleep down here while we fix that.’

Jean smiled back at him, only partly focusing on what he was saying. There was a stain of paint on Marco’s chin right below his lips, and all Jean wanted in that moment was to lean closer and wipe it away with gentle fingers. Maybe he could do that. Maybe Marco wouldn't mind at all. But he didn't trust himself to stop there; he wanted to mess up Marco’s hair more with his paint-stained fingers. Wanted to cup Marco’s chin and steer his face closer to Jean’s own, pressing a kiss to that lovely smile.

So he did none of it, just to be sure. But the longing warmed and ached in his chest, the good and bad twisting around each other, forced to coexist in their small prison.

Marco turned his head to look at him with expectant eyes, and Jean realised he wanted a response to the plans he’d just made. Jean blinked away the affection from his own eyes, a smile pulling his lips to one side. ‘Sounds good.’

*

‘I really need to do something about this,’ Jean muttered, raking his hand through his dark roots with a grumble. ‘It looks like I have a dead rat on my head.’

They were sitting by the small table in the kitchen, eating pancakes Jean had come down to make them for breakfast. It was Friday and both of them free for a few hours more, and like all days similar they spent the slow morning together. Lady lay sprawled on the rug, cleaning herself lazily and meowing in response to their talking. Jean tried hard not to dwell on how very domestic it was.

Marco chuckled around his fork, but Jean still sent him a glare. ‘It’s not that bad,’ Marco said then after chewing down the piece. ‘But if you want, I can help you with it?’

Jean’s annoyance shifted to curious scepticism, eyebrows perked up in question. ‘You can dye hair?’

‘Oh sure. I’ve helped Sasha before!’ Marco’s grin widened, eyes enthusiastic. ‘We can do it tomorrow before the party!’

After considering it for the rest of the day, Jean agreed. It’d be nice to look good for the evening; Ymir and Christa were having a housewarming party, and while the thought didn't make Jean very excited, he knew Marco wanted him to come along.

They set up their makeshift hair salon in the bathroom, Jean placed on a chair in front of Marco with old, already discoloured towels wrapped over his shoulders. He tried not to think about Marco’s fingers massaging his head; it was all gooey and gross and shouldn’t fill his stomach with such excitement. Yet there he sat, eyes falling closed as he leaned into it. His ears burned a little in embarrassment, but it was so nice he forced away the awkward feeling.

Marco remained quiet most of the time, eyes fixed on his work, so concentrated he almost poked out his tongue between his lips. Jean chuckled at the sight, which earned him a light shove and bright smile in return.

It all went well, until the hair was washed and Marco eyed the result while Jean dried it with a towel. ‘Is uh… is this a good moment to admit that I only helped Sasha once?’ he said, a nervous smile pulling his lips to one side. ‘Because she wouldn’t let me do it again after that…’

Jean’s eyes widened. ‘If you’ve fucked up my hair, Bodt, I swear to god–’ The few steps between the bathtub and the mirror felt like a mile, and Jean dreaded what he would see. ‘We’re supposed to be at that party in a few hours!’ he yelled, but as soon as his wide eyes met his reflection, the relief washed over him. The hair was a little brighter than intended, but it looked good. Jean turned and glared at Marco, who was laughing so hard he could barely breathe as he clung to the doorframe. ‘For fuck’s sake, Marco.’

‘I–I… I’m so–sorry, oh god _your face_ …’

Later, when the hair was all dry and Marco had stopped laughing, they were eating a small meal before it was time to get ready. ‘I wouldn’t have risked ruining your hair, you do know that, right?’ Marco said with a sheepish smile. ‘I did only help Sasha once, and I fucked it up really bad. But I’ve done it plenty of times after that, for others. Christa taught me how to do it properly.’

‘Christa isn’t natural blonde?’

‘Oh she is. She’s just great with hair; she wanted to be a hairdresser when she was younger.’ Marco peered at Jean’s long bangs. ‘It looks so soft now,’ he said, biting his lip around the smile as he gestured with his hand. ‘Can I touch it?’

Unprepared for the question, Jean stammered out an awkward okay. Marco’s smile widened. His fingers were gentle as always, brushing through the strands with caring touch.

‘It’s not as soft as it looks,’ he said then. ‘You should try my conditioner.’

Jean scoffed and rolled his eyes, moving out of Marco’s reach. Marco only chuckled.

The party started at 7, so Marco made sure they arrived before that to give them time to chat with the girls alone first. Ymir and Christa were eager to show them around when they arrived, telling them about the plans they had for the place. It was a nice house, with two floors plus a small attic; a lot of space to grow a family. The house needed some work for sure, but they sounded genuinely excited about all that. They’d finished the project of travelling now and were ready to start the next.

‘The lawn is so big too!’ Ymir said, gesturing towards what they could see of the dead backyard through the kitchen windows. ‘Not much in it yet but we’ll get to that as soon as spring comes around. It’s going to look awesome in time for the wedding!’ She gave them both a pleased smirk, then focused on Jean. ‘You’re here in August, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Jean nodded, an awkward hesitation lingering in his voice. He hadn’t expected to be addressed so suddenly. ‘As far as I know.’

Ymir didn’t notice. She was already focusing on something else, pointing at the windows down the hall while Christa said something about them to Marco. ‘Great! Gonna make sure you get an official invitation too.’

Jean would have eyed the architecture and style with interest too if his mind wasn’t preoccupied with fighting his nerves. He wasn’t good with new people, and although he knew some of the guests already – like Sasha, Mikasa and Connie – it made him anxious thinking about what the night might bring. He’d never been very fond of parties, but he didn’t want to decline when it was Marco’s sister hosting it. Especially not when Marco was so excited about having her back in town. So he did his best not to put on his hostile mask, but remain open to conversations even though he mostly listened and followed Marco around.

The party was to be held on the ground floor because those rooms were the only ones they’d had time to fix yet. Except their bedroom on the second floor, but they didn’t want any drunk guests in there. Those said guests started dropping in after 7; most were people Jean hadn’t met before, but of course Marco seemed to know all of them. They were friends of Ymir and Christa first of all, though, and a few were even surprised at how tall Marco had grown so it must be a long time since they last met him.

Marco remained by Jean’s side, a source of comfort to lean into. But the awkwardness didn’t give him a break until Sasha, Connie, and Mikasa arrived too. More familiar faces in the sea of strangers were more than welcome.

Jean wasn’t too happy about finding Reiner and Bert on the doorstep though. Apparently, they were old friends with Ymir and Christa since their university time in some town Jean didn’t catch the name of, so of course they were invited when the girls had found out they lived here now. Sure, Jean didn’t dislike them, but he could do without being at a party with them. Especially considering how much Reiner already overshared while sober – Jean wasn’t particularly eager to find out how he behaved drunk.

As they all moved on into the living room, laughter and yells already echoing between the walls, Ymir grabbed Jean’s arm to hold him back. ‘Hey, Jean. You have a sec?’

Jean stopped, frowning in question but also getting a bit nervous about what she wanted. Had she noticed him staring at Marco for a bit too long? Fuck, he was being obvious, wasn’t he?

But Ymir said no such thing. She hesitated, rolling her eyes and sighing, before finally forcing out; ‘I want to apologise.’

Jean gaped at her. ‘For what?’

‘First time we met.’ When that wasn’t answer enough, she sighed again, letting her shoulders fall in a defeated gesture. Pursing her lips she glared at Jean, more frustrated with herself than with him. ‘I joked about you and Marco dating, and he scolded me about it. He was actually really angry. I did it to annoy him, I had no intention to make you uncomfortable.’

‘O–oh…’ An uncertain blush heated Jean’s ears. This was definitely not what he had expected, and he wasn’t sure what to say. In a way it sounded ridiculous now, with how things had changed. But he remembered the day well; hearing that Marco actually had reacted to it filled him with mixed feelings. On one hand, Marco had stood up for Jean, yet again trying to make sure he was comfortable. On the other… well, it was hard not to wonder if Marco had been upset over the joke too, and what that meant in that case. He forced a wry smile, rubbing the back of his head. ‘Oh no, it’s ah… it’s alright.’

Ymir raised an eyebrow at him, her body shifting back into her usual stance. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah uh… thanks?’

Cracking a grin, Ymir shook away the lingering concern. ‘Cool!’ she said, smacking a hand to Jean’s shoulder with such force he had to take a step forward to catch his balance. She laughed and moved past him into the living room.

By now the conversations were loud in there. Jean wanted to join Marco at the other end of it, but he was surrounded by others, and so many people were already crowded on the couch, chairs, and floor, the thought of getting through them all to reach him made Jean’s stomach churn. So he stayed at the entrance of the room, watching the others in silence while sipping his beer.

Soon enough, someone brought out a deck of cards and spread them around the cup in the middle of the table, yelling at everyone to get closer to play. Christa turned and noticed Jean in the doorway, gesturing for him to join them with a gentle expression. As he let himself be pulled into the outskirts of the circle, his eyes found Marco’s; he was still on the other side of the room, but he was watching Jean with a bright, reassuring smile, and right now that was enough to kick away some of Jean’s gnawing nervousness. So he sat down between Christa and another girl he vaguely recognised from town, and joined the game.

It wasn’t as bad as he had feared. Actually, it was even fun. Laughter spread among them, and Jean found himself grinning at jokes even when he didn’t properly hear or understand them. He was scared of saying or doing something embarrassing on his turns, but there was always someone else who did worse, and it helped him relax more.

Christa stayed close to his side, smiling with rosy cheeks. Sometimes she patted Jean’s arm between them, or leaned her head on his shoulder. Jean wasn’t sure if she was watching over him because she’d noticed he didn’t feel at home with all these people and wanted to help, or if she simply was a cuddly drunk. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

A lot of the time, Jean’s eyes were on Marco, focusing on his smiling eyes and mouth, finding his laugh among all the others. The sound spread warmth through Jean’s chest, whispered calm into his veins. It was amazing how Marco was such a comfort even from a distance.

The first game ended with a blonde, silent girl downing the gross mix of drinks in the cup, her usually expressionless face cracking a satisfied smirk at the sound of the cheering. Some people got up for a break after that, to get more beer or some fresh air. When Reiner moved past Jean, he nudged his knee into Jean’s shoulder to catch his attention. Jean looked up with a frown, shaking his head at the offered pack of cigarettes held out to him.

‘I don’t smoke,’ he pointed out, not for the first time.

Reiner shrugged and after fishing out one for himself, he put it back into his jeans’ pocket. ‘Come anyway! Wanna talk to you a bit.’

Jean was tempted to decline the strange offer, but part of him was curious to know what Reiner wanted. And so he got up from the floor and followed the bigger man out into the much quieter hallway. Reiner stopped before he got to the front door, though, grabbing Jean’s elbow to stop him too. Smirking, he leaned closer, nudging Jean in the side with a knowing look in his eyes.

‘Here,’ he said and pressed something into Jean’s palm, not allowing him to give it back when he saw what it was. ‘You’re being obvious, kid. Go get use of this.’ He winked and nodded towards Marco still standing in the living room, laughing with Sasha and swaying a little because of the alcohol.

Jean didn’t reply. He felt sick, and it had nothing to do with the beer he was holding. Reiner paid no mind to his expression; he just chuckled and went outside after patting Jean’s shoulder. Meanwhile, as if life wanted to mock him more, those left on the couch loudly announced Never Have I Ever, and with it came the subjects he wanted to avoid.

This was why he hated parties. People would end up making out on the couch not giving a shit about anyone else in the room, while all the games turned into relationships and sex. He’d hoped he had just had bad experiences with people before, that this time when Marco was there it would be different. But it was stupid to put such faith in Marco for something he had no control over. He didn’t decide what games they should play.

Jean had been prepared to ignore all these topics, but Reiner interpreting him watching Marco like _that_ made his stomach recoil and twist. Disgust rose in his throat and with a last glance at Marco he turned on the spot and threw the condom in the first trashcan he found.

Mikasa didn’t join the new game either. She stood in the kitchen mixing her drink, and waved Jean over with a free hand while her other held the glass as she took a sip to try the taste.

‘You’re not going to play?’ Jean asked.

Mikasa shook her head, earrings singing a clear tune as she moved. ‘Got no interest in who or where they have fucked,’ she said sipping from her glass again. The liquid had a blue, poisonous colour. ‘I can think of so much else I’d rather learn about a person than their experience with their partner.’ She peered at Jean. ‘What about you, then? You’re not joining either?’

Jean shook his head and sat down by the table. She watched him in silence, her eyes speaking words he hadn’t learned to interpret yet. Jean had briefly hoped the alcohol would make it easier for him to talk with her, but the awkwardness and self-consciousness came over him again, and only a few forced words were exchanged before silence fell. Mikasa didn’t seem to mind that though; she focused on the various drinks she was making, handing some over to others when they came in to get more.

Suddenly, a loud cheer rose from the living room, mixed with the upbeat tunes of the karaoke game. Jean recognised it because Marco had persuaded him to play it a few times when only the two of them were hanging out – but now, of course, it was back in the possession of the original owners.

Mikasa’s eyebrows perked up in interest, a small smile pulling at her lips. ‘That sounds more fun,’ she said, and Jean had to agree.

The following hours were spent finding the best – and worst – singing talent among them. Someone shouted out that everyone should sing at least once, but that was quickly downvoted. However, with each shot and drink more people fought for the microphones. Even Jean was encouraged, but he chose to remain squeezed between Sasha and Marco on the couch instead of getting up when he was offered his turn. He blamed it on being lazy, and Marco laughed; the lovely sound vibrated through him over to Jean, who let his head fall back against Marco’s shoulder with a big grin of his own. He was having such a nice time not even Reiner winking at him was enough to pull him down.

Music, laughter, and loud voices buzzed together between the walls, and while Jean wasn’t bothered by it, it was still nice to get a moment of quiet when Marco and Sasha led the way to the next floor. True, the party was to stay downstairs, but Marco insisted Ymir didn’t mind if he snuck away up there for a while. So they lay sprawled out on the floor in an otherwise empty room, joking and giggling at everything and nothing.

Once back downstairs, Marco was pulled from Jean’s side again by some other friends. But before he let himself be swept away, he searched for Jean’s eyes to make sure he was alright on his own. Jean waved him away with a grin. He was fine – surprised about it, sure, but definitely fine.

He was having a discussion about Trost with two of Ymir’s friends when a new game was announced. At first they ignored it, and although Jean didn’t remember how the conversation had started, he was glad to continue it. But a very dramatic proposal drew all their attention, and so the whole room as yet again invested in what was going on, whether or not they’d actively chosen to.

Jean didn’t mind. He was sitting far enough to the side to remain unnoticed by those leading the game, and it suited him fine. He had no idea what the game was called, or of they were supposed to drink at some point; all he knew was that one person was reading from her phone, either questions or instructions for what the chosen person would do. That must have been the case with the proposal, because Jean doubted Sasha was going to marry Bert.

To begin with, there was a wide range of topics covered. But then came more and more personal ones, the stuff Jean didn’t want to know, or see, and definitely not answer himself. Why was this interesting to anyone? He’d never understood, and that had not changed now. Maybe there were others in there who agreed, but no one protested. Jean searched for Mikasa and found her curled up against Sasha on a chair, sleepy head rested on her chest. She didn’t seem to be listening at all, and was too drunk to care about what was going on around her. All that left her was grumbling nonsense in protest at her vibrating pillow whenever Sasha laughed.

Jean knew Marco was sitting in one of the corners, but he hesitated to look at him. What if he was enjoying this game as much as Reiner was? What if he would answer any question he got with unnecessary amount of details, happily sharing his experiences from past relationships?

A small voice in the back of Jean’s mind reminded him that Marco only had had a romantic Valentine’s date once, and never during the past months had he shown any such interest in anyone. Marco might have done stuff before, but if he hadn’t told one of his best friends about it, he probably wasn’t that eager to talk about it with all these people either.

Clinging to this, Jean glanced at him; Marco was leaning back against some pillows, watching the speaking ones with a slight smile. It widened for a moment at an embarrassing comment, his eyebrows furrowing in an amused but also pitying expression. He wasn’t exactly having the time of his life, but he didn’t seem to suffer either.

Jean’s eyes returned to his own hands clenched in his lap, considering what to do. He didn’t want to risk getting a question himself, so he should leave the room soon. But what else was he supposed to do? Sit in the kitchen on his own? What a shame it was the girls didn’t have a cat or other pet to hang out with while waiting for the game to end.

While he was thinking, the questions kept wandering around the circle. When he glanced up at Marco again, he was rolling his eyes at yet another sex confession, though Jean didn’t know if it was the topic or something else that caused the boredom in Marco’s expression. He wished they were sitting close enough for him to move over to his side without being noticed by everyone else, suggesting they take some fresh air. But they were separated by a bunch of eager participants, and Jean didn’t want to draw attention to himself, so he stayed where he was seated close to the door.

Then came Marco’s turn. He straightened up from the pillows, an uncertain smile moving over his lips as he waited. The girl with the phone cracked a wicked smile, chuckling, before catching Marco’s gaze and repeating the question out loud. ‘What’s your favourite sex position?’

Marco laughed with the rest, although nervous and embarrassed. ‘Do I have to answer that?’ he asked, but Jean couldn’t tell if it was a pleading to be released from the rules or just to add to the entertainment.

In another life he might have found this interesting. He might have watched Marco with curious eyes, his imagination running away with him as his crush with a flustered face had to illustrate what he liked to do in bed.

But not in this life.

Now all it filled Jean with was dread.

He left the room without waiting for Marco’s reply, unnoticed when everyone’s attention was on their victim. His stomach churned and eyes stung; anger was the only weapon he had against the tears, but it didn’t help much. He sank down on the toilet seat, the sounds of everyone’s ‘ohhh’s and ‘awww’s and laughter echoing through the wall to the bathroom.

Of course Marco had an answer for that question. Of course he liked it, wanted it, needed it. Who didn’t? Who was so damn weird and broken they didn't want sex?

_No_. He shook his head at his own thoughts. _Shut up._

_‘Just my luck,’_ the memory of the voice echoed in his mind. _‘My prom date is the only guy who doesn't want to get laid.’_

Jean shut his eyes tight, fingers gripping hard of his hair. Pulling.

Those stupid words weren’t allowed to get to him anymore; it was so long ago now, and he knew better than he had then. He wasn’t alone. There was nothing wrong with him, nothing broken. People were different in various ways, sexuality included, and while it often didn’t seem like it, there were many others like him out there. His mum had made sure he knew that; when he was too sad and scared to research it himself, she found forums and information online, as well as a real life ace community having meet-ups in Trost sometimes. The idea of actually going to one had always been too intimidating though, the usual anxiety that came with meeting new people mixed with the crippling fear of ruining the only chance he had to find someone like him. But it helped to know it existed. Helped to know that once he was ready, there were people out there for him to meet.

Still, it was hard to fight the bad thoughts when surrounded by all these things that alienated him from his friends. And with his heart being slowly crushed by longing, his defences against other memories crumbled to the ground without much resistance. They hissed at him, cruel reminders of rejection, of not being enough.

This party didn’t have much in common with _that_ one, really. This one was cosy and homey; that one had been in a dark, smoky club with so many people the faces swam together in an anonymous blur. Jean hadn’t cared about it, because all his focus was on this one person, this one guy he had fallen for too fast and too hard, who was finally holding him against the wall in a corner, _kissing_ him. It was so good, god, everything was so good and wonderful and _perfect_.

Jean had only kissed a few times before, and none was much to remember. The few kisses with the unsatisfied girl he’d asked to prom were the least successful, but at least she’d been somewhat interested to begin with; Hitch had kissed him out of pity, calling herself helpful for making sure he even knew what he was doing. But _this?_ This was something else. Jean never wanted it to stop.

It did, though.

Of course it did.

The other boy got too eager, his hands too explorative, and knowing what it’d lead to, Jean pushed him away a little, just enough to say that he didn’t want _that_. Those beautiful eyes in that gorgeous face his heartstrings were tied to, frowned a little, searching his expression for any hidden meaning behind those words when they should be crystal clear.

‘ _Oh, we can take it slow_ ,’ he whispered after a moment, and Jean let himself, heart and soul, fall back into the kiss that followed, thought that _yes they could wait_ , _let this last a while more_. But the fear of that coming pressure made him shake his head to clarify that he’d never want to at all.

And those eyes fell. The boy stepped back, tearing the heartstrings in half, snapping them with each step away he took, in how he brushed their contact off and turned his attention elsewhere. Offering a soft apology and ‘ _it’s not going to work for us then_ ’ before leaving Jean in the corner to cradle the bleeding remains of the heart just fallen to pieces in his chest.

Like then, Jean was alone in the silence now, taking deep breaths through his nose as he tried and fought all he could not to let the burning tears fall. Not while still here. He had to leave first. He had to leave.

_It’s not going to work._

Slipping out unnoticed and ignoring the laughter as he passed the living room, Jean rushed for the door, only stopping to grab his jacket from the overfilled hanger and pull on his shoes. Then he was out, the cold night air hitting him in the face with no regard for the wet tracks down his cheeks.

It didn’t take long until Marco found him. He’d noticed Jean was gone and searched for him, and the thought of that made Jean feel a little better for a moment. But it was fleeting.

Marco sat down beside him on the steps, silent for a while more before saying anything. ‘Hey... Are you alright?’

Jean could lie. But Marco would know it. ‘No, I’m… I’m not feeling well,’ he admitted, scraping at the ground with the toe of his shoe. ‘I…I think I’ll go home.’

‘Oh. Okay.’ Marco got up again, swaying a little as he turned towards the door. ‘I’ll go get my jacket–’

Jean quickly shook his head. ‘No, you can stay here. I’m not gonna ruin your night.’

Marco stopped and gave him a tight, thoughtful smile. ‘You’re not ruining it, Jean.’

But Jean shook his head again. Of course he wanted to spend every extra minute he was given with Marco but… right now, he wasn’t sure if he could handle it. His eyes were prickling and the emotions rising in his chest; he didn’t want Marco to see this. He didn’t want the questions, because he feared he wouldn’t be able to tell convincing lies. And it would ruin it. It would ruin everything.

He couldn’t risk that.

‘I know the way,’ he insisted, rising to his feet and burrowing into his own jacket. ‘It’s fine. I’m sorry I can’t stay longer – will you tell Ymir from me? I don’t really feel like going back inside.’

‘Of course. But Jean…’ Marco continued, hesitating and tilting his head to the side as he searched Jean’s face. ‘Did something happen? Is it something someone did?’

Yes. No. Jean sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter, Marco. I’m just not very excited about parties. I told you that.’

Marco nodded, chewing on his lip in thought. ‘I’ll go with you for a bit, at least. Is that okay?’

There came no more questions as they walked; only soft comments about the house, and plans for summer. Jean appreciated it; listening to Marco – even his silence – was comforting. He almost forgot for a while. Almost.

Marco was still reluctant to turn back, but listened to what Jean wanted. He wrapped Jean in a close hug first, his cheek cold against Jean’s own. ‘I’m here for you, alright?’ he said with low voice, squeezing Jean tighter before pulling back. His eyebrows were furrowed in a concerned frown, eyes again searching Jean’s face for hidden answers.

Jean’s heart sighed, and he forced a smile. ‘I know, but don’t worry,’ he said, patting Marco’s shoulder. ‘I’ll be fine.’

However, as he was walking on alone, he didn’t know if he was glad or not that Marco had listened. Part of him wished Marco had been more insistent on coming with him, on not leaving him alone when something was wrong. But he knew it wasn’t fair to think like that, and he did his best to shake off the feeling.

When finally reaching his floor in the building, he was met by a fluffy cat emerging from the shadows. She meowed in hello, and as if she knew comfort was needed, she stopped by his feet and stretched her front paws up along his leg. Jean didn’t say anything in response. He just picked her up and tried to let her purring warmth melt away the cold hurt seeping through his chest as he unlocked his door and went inside.

He had the key to Marco’s apartment, so there was an option to let her back in there. But the idea of being alone right then… no. He needed her here.

Jean sniffled through his cold nose, downcast eyes moving over the dark room without seeing anything. He left his jacket lying on the floor by the boots, dropping the scarf and mittens where he was without second thought. His body worked on auto pilot as he filled Lady’s bowl with fresh water and placed it by the door. She lapped it up while Jean moved around in silence; in the bathroom he picked out a pair of softer trousers from the wardrobe and exchanged the jeans for them before he padded over to the bed. Shivering and miserable he pulled the blankets over his head, arms wrapping tightly around his extra pillow.

The mattress and blanket dipped softly as Lady searched her way to him, butting her head into what was visible of Jean’s forehead. She purred, curling up and settling down there so she would be close even if he didn’t come out from his blanket shell.

It took a while, but her insistent purring did win in the end. Jean let the blanket slide down from his face and looked up at her. She uncurled enough to press her nose to his, soft pink against his sharp, red one. His eyes were wet but cheeks still dry, and he fought against the waves around his heart the best he could, pressing back the tide crashing behind his eyes.

‘I guess we should let Marco know you’re here, huh?’ he sighed. ‘Don’t want him to get worried you’re lost somewhere out in the snow.’

For a very brief moment, Jean did wonder if that wasn’t what he wanted after all. But he shook the thought away with an internal glare at that bitter part of himself. This wasn’t Marco’s fault. None of it. He shouldn’t have to suffer because Jean hadn’t learned how to build proper walls around his heart. He sure should have by now considering everything, but nope. No such skill acquired.

He sat up again and typed out a quick message, while Lady licked at the hand closest to her. He let go of the phone with that hand and petted her head. A smile was creeping across his face, cautious and weary but still there. Lady purred louder.

Jean opened the Facebook app with his other hand and scrolled through the news feed, ignoring the pictures from the party that already had started popping up. He spotted himself in one of them, but didn’t stop to see what awful angle Sasha had succeeded to capture him in this time.

Then he saw it.

They were smiling wide in the photo, both turned towards the camera that was no doubt held by one of them. Her long blonde hair only added more to the sunshine that she was, amber eyes sparkling with happiness and excitement to finally share this with everyone. To make it official.

Jean stared at the screen, the only light source in the dark room, taking a deep breath. The other person was dark-haired with glasses, cute in a dorky kind of way, and no doubt nice and sweet just like Jessie wanted. They had to be, Jean knew, or she wouldn’t have liked them. She had no time for douchebags.

But it wasn’t them Jean thought about. There was no protective big-brother mode kicking in, ready to light a fire with his obsessive conviction that no one was good enough for his little sister. He didn’t click onto their name to see what he could find about them in the friend-of-friend's view of their profile. He didn’t instantly call her to demand to know who exactly this person was, how they’d met, if she was really sure. He’d never understood such behaviour, and anyway, she could take care of herself.

He didn’t do it out of curiosity either, though. He didn’t text her an excited congratulation. He did none of the things he knew he should and that she would appreciate. He couldn’t even bring himself to like the in-a-relationship post.

He stared at her face, her happiness, the bad taste in his mouth only growing worse the longer time passed. He wanted all the best for her. _Of course_ he did. Still, the bitterness proved hard to shake.

She had the grades, the school she wanted, a promising future with a secure income. She had kindness and happiness, and an ability to be positive even when things didn’t go her way. She had always had friends she spent time with as often as she could, with dinners and parties and saving up to world-travels together. She had been to so many places already, seen so much, all paid with money earned from the jobs she managed to have time for despite school. She was all the good things Jean wasn’t, and he loved her so much, but it _hurt_.

It hurt so much he didn’t know what to do. He threw the phone away, let it slid off the mattress beside him and smatter against the floor as his walls caved. He buried his face in the crook of his arms, shaking, and hating himself for reacting this way.

_It’s not a competition._

_It’s not. It’s not. It’s not._

But now she had this too. Yet again she achieved something he so desperately wanted but couldn’t reach. Now would come the family dinners, with the relatives asking him if he wasn’t going to get together with someone too? Wasn’t it about time?

_Even your sister has a partner now. Don’t you want a relationship, Jean?_

_Well, you certainly won’t find anyone with that attitude, that’s for sure. Maybe you should try being more like your sister, hm?_

For a brief moment his mum’s annoyed face flashed by before his closed eyes, how she would shut them up and tell them to mind their own fucking business… But the relief of it didn’t last. She was a support, had been for years, always, but even her dealing with nosy relatives knowing the best for everyone’s else future, it couldn’t help with this. He didn’t want her to shut them up, _he_ wanted to shut them up himself. And while he often had hoped to do that with how little he cared about all that shit, he’d never managed to because it wasn’t true. And now… now he wanted to show them someone he loved. He wanted his aunt to come with her patronising pity and ask how things were going, and he would answer by pointing her to Marco.

They would love Marco. They would love him so much some would wonder how Jean's grumpy, hostile exterior had attracted such a ray of sunshine, and Jean would give them smug smirks in reply. And Mum and Jessie would love Marco too, but be happy about it and make sure he always felt at home and welcome when he visited. They'd be embarrassing, no doubt. Telling stories and showing pictures and making Marco giggle with warmth and fondness, and Jean would be happier than he ever thought he could be...

Except this would never happen.

Jean let himself fall back against the pillow, knees drawn up to his chest under the blankets, back turned towards the rest of the room. Against the world. Tears trickled down his cheeks; he angrily wiped them away, but they kept coming. He had not much of a choice but to give in to the storm raging in his chest, drowning his heart deep below the surface where it could no longer breathe and live.

Lady squeezed herself in under his arm, snuggling against him with her purrs of affection and support. The tears fell and his heart ached with each sob. But hugging her close offered comfort, and in her guarding presence, he fell asleep.

*

Jean woke up to the buzzing of his phone the next morning. At first he ignored it, nuzzling his nose deeper into Lady’s warm fur and trying to forget everything else. But the disturbance was insistent; groaning he stretched for his phone on the floor and found a long list of texts, all from the same person. He didn’t want to smile. He wanted to throw the phone further away and pull the blankets over his head and hold the cat close as he forced himself back to sleep.

But it was Marco. It was Marco and no matter how much it hurt and ached in his chest, Jean couldn’t help but smile.

He swiped at the screen to open up the messenger app, then scrolled through all the variations of hello Marco had sent during the past 30 minutes. The last few messages popped in while he was reading;

> ** _Hey_**

**_> You feeling alright?_ **

**_> Hey_ **

**_> Hey Jean wake up :(_ **

**_> Jeeeeean_ **

**_> You want pizza???_ **

Jean rolled his eyes, but crawled out of bed and picked up a sweater from the floor. It was Marco’s, he noticed; he had a tendency to “forget” his own up here, for an excuse to borrow one from Marco, and while Marco shook his head at him, he refused to let Jean be cold. Jean pulled it over his head, trying not to think about how much bigger it was than him, and headed towards the door with Lady at his heels. But his fingers ran over the soft fabric of the chest, and as he skipped down the steps in the chilly stairwell, he hugged himself and buried his nose in the folds of the sweater. How warm and nice it would be to nuzzle close to Marco while he was wearing it.

Standing outside Marco’s front door, Jean let himself close his eyes for a moment, leaning his forehead to the wood while imagining how things could have been. Marco’s scent still lingered in the yarn, whispering of slow, lazy mornings cuddled close among the sheets; of soft kisses and smiles and beautiful eyes filled with love. Jean sighed. He had to let these dreams go, or learn to live with them without allowing them to disturb his very real friendship with Marco. Ever doing anything to endanger that was out of the question.

Lady meowed and pawed at the door, big eyes looking up at Jean and asking why he hadn’t opened it yet. Jean pushed down the handle only to find the door locked; he rang the bell a few times and then fished up his phone from his trousers to send away a text.

**> Are you gonna open the door or what?**

A reply dropped in shortly after;

**> use your key**

Jean sighed. ‘I don't have it with me!’ he called through the door, not sure if Marco heard him or not. But his phone soon buzzed again, this time with a simple **uuugughgggh**. Okay then.

Jean rolled his eyes and returned upstairs, before finally letting himself inside. Lady shot away towards the kitchen, either to eat or to find Marco in his bedroom. Jean kicked off his shoes and followed suit, finding Marco still in bed with the blankets rolled around him and Lady wriggling her way close with her tail fluffy in the air.

‘You haven’t even gotten up yet?’ Jean said as greeting.

Marco pouted into the pillow, his hair tousled from sleep. ‘Can you order the pizza?’

‘Seriously? You only asked me to come here because you’re too lazy to order it yourself?’

‘I also wanted Lady back.’

‘Wow, what a friend you are.’

‘Jeeeean,’ Marco whined, stretching out an arm after him. ‘Come.’ He patted the mattress beside him with the other hand.

Jean scoffed but did as asked. He sat down by the pillows, leaning against the headboard and let Marco throw the blanket over his legs too. Marco peered up at Jean with a gleeful smile in his eyes, waiting expectantly for the pizza to be ordered. Jean shook his head but pulled out his phone from the pocket, and clicked his way to the website of Marco’s favourite pizzeria. ‘So what do you want?’

Ten minutes later the order was decided and sent, and they existed in silence waiting for it to arrive. Jean’s eyes were closed; he ignored Marco poking his arm for almost a minute before he caved. ‘What?’

‘You alright?’ Marco asked, with an edge of concern in his voice. ‘Wanna talk about last night?’

‘Nope,’ Jean replied and dropped his phone on the night stand. ‘And I’m fine. Don’t think about it.’

‘Hm.’

‘So what about you? You had fun?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Marco admitted and stretched himself with a yawn, nearly knocking a photo frame from the shelf above the bed with his arm. ‘I think I drank a bit too much though. Feeling really groggy now.’

‘I figured that out.’

Marco let out a short snort-mixed giggle ending in a low whine. ‘Can you get me a glass of water?’ he groaned, massaging the side of his head with his fingers. ‘Please? The bottled I have here is empty.’

Playfully cursing Marco as he went, Jean did as asked. When he returned, Marco was sitting up, pulling out money from his jeans’ pockets.

‘You didn't even undress last night?’ Jean said and placed the glass on the nightstand before returning to his side of the bed. ‘It's a miracle you're not currently hanging over the toilet seat.’

Marco only hummed, slowly counting through the notes and coins to make sure it was enough for the pizza. Among them was also a small package identical to the one Reiner had given Jean; the sight of it made Jean’s stomach turn. But to his surprise, Marco picked it up and handed it over to him.

‘You want this?’ he asked, the complete disinterest in keeping it himself clear in his voice and expression.

Jean shook his head sharply. ‘I got one too.’

‘Ah, of course. I suppose it’s well-meaning, but it’s a waste on me to be honest.’

Jean chewed on his lower lip, wondering if he dared to bring the subject further. ‘So… you’re not going to use it?’.

A smile stretched over Marco’s face, slightly amused but most of all tired. ‘Not as long as I’m single, no. I’d only have sex with someone I’m in love with.’

Right. Jean stared at the wall by the nightstand. Behind him, Marco was settling back down in the bed, blankets wrapped around him, already thinking about something else. Jean glanced at him.

‘Do you miss it?’

Marco didn’t reply right away; he was busy petting the purring cat sprawled over his chest. ‘Miss what?’ he said then after an extra beat of silence. He tore his eyes from Lady and looked at Jean. ‘Her waking me up by biting my nose?’

Jean started to laugh but then cut it short in frustration. ‘No… no I meant…’ He nodded towards the condom package Marco had left among the money between them, feeling his ears burn in embarrassment. ‘I meant sex. Since you… only want someone you love. If you miss it.’

He no doubt appeared as a flustered virgin too inexperienced to be comfortable talking about it, and while it was partly true, it left a bitter taste in his mouth to think Marco would read his discomfort as that. But Marco didn’t seem to notice at all.

‘Oh. No. Not really.’ Marco smiled, eyes wandering away somewhere back in time or into the future. He shook his head for emphasis. ‘It’s not exactly the first thing I think of when it comes to relationships.’

Jean’s stomach swirled in sudden nauseous excitement, and he had to bit back not to smile uncertainly. This didn’t mean anything, and it was only foolish to let himself get his hopes up.

‘What about you?’

Jean shook his head again. ‘Not at all,’ he said, a bit too sharp and quick to appear casual. His eyes fell to his fingers fumbling with the corner of the blanket. ‘I don’t miss it.’

‘That’s good. Let’s throw them away then, yeah?’

'I already did,' Jean admitted. ‘Right after I got it. Reiner doesn’t listen, so I didn’t even try to say no.’

Marco hummed with a knowing smile. ‘I don’t really know him but judging by what I saw of him last night he seems to think everyone is as crazy about sex as he is. I mean, not that it’s bad to be, of course! They seem to have a lot of fun.’ He chuckled, a trace of red warming his cheekbones. ‘I just think people should acknowledge that everyone's different without making a big deal out of it. You know?’

‘Yeah,’ Jean replied, hoping Marco didn't hear how squeaky his voice sounded. He barely dared to breathe, not sure what to expect from this conversation.

‘For example, Never Have I Ever is completely pointless if all people say is weird sex-stuff and then some don't get to drink at all because it's not their thing or because they haven't done any of that yet. Not to mention that “favourite sex position” thing! I just… How am I supposed to know that? Just because I’m almost 25 it doesn't mean I do, but people expect it. It kind of ruins the mood for me sometimes, to be honest.’

Jean’s mouth was dry, his body frozen still while his mind ran at highest speed trying to figure out what exactly Marco was saying. But he didn’t have much time; the next moment the doorbell rang and Marco’s eyes lit up.

‘Pizza!’ he cheered, like an excited child. He peered up at Jean from the pillow, again rolled into his blanket and unable to get free. Or so he pretended. ‘Can you please get it? I’m still woozy.’

A different time Jean would have kicked a grumbling Marco out of the bed to get him to do it himself, but now he was relieved to leave for a moment. He allowed himself a few extra seconds to calm his racing nerves, making sure his hands didn't shake as he brought the box back to bed after Marco called for him.

Marco was sitting up again, holding out his hands while licking his lips. Watching him eat sloppily and giggle at himself, Jean’s muscles relaxed. He smiled back in reply, nudging Marco’s shoulder with his own after a really cheesy pun, and enjoyed the pizza almost as much as Marco did.

It might not mean anything. But it felt good nonetheless.


End file.
